Hermione Granger and the Bond of the Serpent
by ultrageekgirl
Summary: The way it actually happened. After Dumbledore assigns to her an imperative mission that has profound implications in the greater context and history of the Wizarding World, Hermione begins to realize that things are much more complex than they seem, and that all must unite in order to defeat the darkness.
1. A Rough Beginning

CHAPTER ONE

**A Rough Beginning**

To say that the year was not looking good for Hermione was a gross understatement. She had spent most of her summer at the Burrow, reading and reviewing for the upcoming fourth year at Hogwarts. It had been a nice, relaxing break from the school year, but deep down in her heart, she had a dreadful feeling that it was the so-called calm before the storm.

Like always, she had been right.

The Quidditch World Cup had started off quite spectacularly. As a Muggle-born, Hermione still had much to learn and see in the Wizarding World, and her first witnessing of the world Cup, or any major magic event at that, had not been disappointing. The tents, the stadiums, the cheers, the colours... all of it had been a marvellous sight to behold. At the event, they had met Winky — Crouch's house-elf, Ludo Bagman — the match commentary and head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Barty Crouch — Percy's boss and head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Cornelius Fudge — the Minister of Magic. They also had a less than savoury encounter with the Malfoys that she tried to put out of her mind. She had long since learned to ignore the tauntings of Draco Malfoy.

Everything had gone remarkably well.

That is, until the Death Eaters attacked the camp, tormented local Muggles, and a scuffle with the Ministry had ensued after the Dark Mark had been sent up into the sky.

The appearance of the Death Eaters had struck fear deep into the hearts of all wizards. It was the first time the Dark Mark had been seen since the fall of Voldemort, fourteen years ago. Things had gotten worse when the Aurors had almost killed them, thinking that they had cast the offending mark in the sky.

Thankfully, had been there to get them out of the mess, but Winky had been found holding Harry's wand close by. Thinking about the ridiculous accusations against Winky incensed her once again: she had clearly been innocent — there was no way a house-elf could have cast the Morsmordre. Worse even, there was something very suspicious about the way Barty Crouch had reacted. Something that warned Hermione that trouble was coming.

Later, upon returning to the Burrow, Harry had told them about the dream, and Hermione knew then, that his scar hurting so closely to the appearance of the Dark Mark for the first time in thirteen years, was not a mere coincidence. The thought generated fear in the pit of her stomach, different from the fear she had felt in the first three years of being friends with Harry Potter.

No, this was something bigger.

And now, she was sitting in the Great Hall after the annual start-of-term feast, that very same ball of fear growing like a tumour as the Headmaster announced the hosting of the Triwizard Tournament. The four long House tables packed with students instantly became abuzz with fervent whispering and excited glances. The light of the hundreds and hundreds of candles floating over the tables in midair reflected in the golden plates and goblets seemed to glow brighter, as the Headmaster launched into a short explanation of the Triwizard Tournament's history.

Hermione's head shot up upon hearing the words "death toll". Death toll? As in students had actually died participating? A bubble of panic rose in her chest but as she looked around her, no one else had seemed to share her alarm. If anything, it had even seemed to heighten the excitement.

Harry and Ron were animatedly whispering with Neville and Dean, and Fred and George were clinking their goblets and making plans as to how to overcome the newly established age requirement.

"I reckon a few drops of Ageing Potion ought to do the trick, George…" She heard Fred say over the scraping and banging of the students making their way out of the Great Hall to the Entrance Hall. She was about to express her negatory opinion when she felt a small tap on her back as she got up from the table. She turned to face a shy, second-year Hufflepuff who held a slip of paper in her tiny hands.

"For you," the girl squeaked, and before Hermione could even open her mouth to speak, the girl had dropped the paper in her hands and scrambled away into the crowds that were leaving the Great Hall.

Curiously looking down at the parchment, Ron and Harry immediately flanked her sides.

"Well, go on, open it!" Ron urged.

Half-heartedly rolling her eyes, she unfolded the note and read aloud:

_Dear Miss Granger, _

_ Please meet me in my office as soon as the feast is over. There is something I would like to discuss._

_ P.S. I do enjoy Cauldron Cakes._

At the bottom, signed in an elegant cursive script, was Albus Dumbledore.

"'_I do enjoy Cauldron Cakes_…'?" Ron repeated, an expression of disbelief appearing on his freckled face. "He's always been a little barmy, hasn't he?"

"It's probably the password to his office," Harry said quickly, "but what does he want to talk about with you, Hermione?"

Hermione had been examining the note and looked up at Harry's quizzical expression that she realized she herself was probably sporting as well.

"I guess I'll find out, won't I?" She murmured, feeling the parchment crinkle slightly between her fingers. "I'll meet you two in the Common Room afterwards."

She waved goodbye and headed in the direction of Gryffindor Tower as she began walking towards the Headmaster's Office. Left to her own thoughts, Hermione pushed aside the matters that she had been prepared to discuss with Ron and Harry and instead, wondered what could possibly be the focus of her meeting with Dumbledore. Possibilities flitted through her mind as she walked briskly down the stately corridors, each idea more unlikely than the one before.

She would soon find out that none of her guesses were even close.


	2. An Impossible Mission

CHAPTER TWO

**An Impossible Mission**

Hermione stood in front of the massive stone gargoyle, her heart beating slightly quicker than normal with both excitement and trepidation. Feeling silly, she rolled back her shoulders, and shaking her hair out of her face, she cleared her throat and spoke.

"Cauldron Cakes."

As she watched with a childlike curiosity, the gargoyle moved aside to reveal the spiralling staircase that she guessed would lead to the Headmaster's office. Travelling up the stone staircase, she stepped off and approached the oaken double doors that loomed in front of her. After a second's hesitation, she knocked. The door swung open and biting her lip, she stepped inside.

As her surroundings became clear, it took a moment to let her eyes explore the vast circular room. One section of the circular wall was lined with mahogany bookcases in which stacks of thick books were pressed against each other on shelves. Next to the bookcases were tall shelves that had an array of mysterious objects sitting on them, some still, and others moving. The Sorting Hat sat atop the highest shelf. The remaining half of the office wall opposite of her was lined with portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses, some of whom were already dozing off and quietly snoring. The high walls were also filled with glass windows that she guessed would let the sunlight illuminate the office in the mornings.

Near the back of the room, Hermione noticed a black wood closet that was half-closed, allowing her a glimpse of a shallow stone basin that had strange runes and symbols carved into it, along with fitted precious stones adorning the rim. Her attention was quickly diverted as she saw, sitting on a wooden perch, the most beautiful bird she had ever seen sporting a magnificent plumage. A phoenix, she mused, in awe of the splendid shades of red and gold feathers that lined its tail and body. Its eyes were black and depthless, adding to its majestic and mysterious quality.

"Miss Granger."

The Headmaster's voice brought Hermione back to the present. She quickly turned and saw him sitting behind his desk that was filled with strange objects and devices that chimed and emitted swirling curlicues of smoke. He was peering at her through his half-moon spectacles, a genial expression on his elderly face.

"Please, do sit down."

"Thank you, sir," she said politely, taking a seat in the ornately decorated chair opposite of him.

"I trust your summer was well?" He asked kindly.

"Yes, sir," she replied, "er — aside from what happened at the World Cup."

The space between his wispy eyebrows crinkled slightly. "Ah yes… quite a terrifying occurrence, I must say."

After a few moments passed by silence in which Hermione realized that Dumbledore was deep in thought, she decided against asking him how his summer was and went with the obvious.

"What is it that you wanted to discuss with me, sir?" Hermione inquired politely, her hands folded in her lap. The corner of the Headmaster's eyes crinkled.

"Ah, yes." He seemed to come out of his momentary reverie and his ice-blue eyes met hers. "I apologize that I have put this upon you on the first day of the school year, but an opportunity — a matter of increasing urgency, I might add — has presented itself, and it would do no good to delay it any more under the false pretence that it is anything that can be delayed."

Hermione blinked.

He smiled and paused only for a moment before continuing. "You see, I once knew of a young boy, who like you, came from a world where magic did not exist, who like you sat in the Great Hall, walked the castle's corridors, and slept under the protection of its roof. From early on, I had caught glimpses of his true nature, and perhaps was the only one who had been wary of his charismatic charm that hid what was truly underneath."

The hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stood up. She had an eerie feeling she knew exactly who this young boy was.

Dumbledore paused, and added, almost like an afterthought, "Is it clear of whom I speak?"

She nodded, her legs feeling numb. "V-Voldemort, sir," she whispered.

"Indeed." He nodded almost approvingly, looking down his long nose at her.

Hermione knew that Voldemort had once been a student at Hogwarts, but it still shocked her to hear it being said by someone who had actually _taught_ him.

"You are wondering why I did not stop him then, when he was a student and much easier to thwart," he continued softly. "However, it is my belief that perhaps no amount of interference after he had discovered the world of magic could have hindered his journey in becoming something terrible beyond imagination…It is what happens next that I feel deep regret.

"A few decades after Tom's years as a student at Hogwarts, another young boy appeared with bitterness and a hunger for power that had been rooted deeply inside of him as a result of poverty, abuse, and neglect. Like Tom, the muggle in his life was cruel, and once he stepped into Hogwarts, his pre-existing hatred for his muggle father allowed him to tolerate and perhaps accept the strong prejudicial beliefs concerning blood that I am sure you are aware of."

Hermione nodded numbly. She was more than familiar with blood prejudice.

"Oh, he was intelligent, yes…extremely intelligent, but unfortunately overlooked. As a child who grew up overpowered by a Muggle father yet demonstrated such magical prowess, he exemplified a dangerous combination of circumstances, Miss Granger, do you see? He had grown to resent the injustice that he been born into; he loathed the inattentiveness that had followed him all his life despite his aptitude, and craved power and to one day expel revenge on those who had underestimated him, hurt him, scorned him. I believe that is what propelled him to join the Dark Lord after leaving Hogwarts, who welcomed him with open arms and promised everything that he had wanted from a young age. Do you understand, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded again as Dumbledore watched her with piercing, blue eyes. All thoughts related to the task forgotten, Hermione felt heavy-hearted as she listened to Dumbledore's recount of the young man. It seemed unfair, desperately unfair, that some were born into situations beyond their control. Though she was not seduced by the Dark Arts, she understood how one could succumb to their insecurities. Seeking recognition was an all-too-familiar feeling for Hermione. Looking down at her hands miserably, she could see how a child's abusive background could grow to harbour intense feelings of unfairness and loathing, and also disdain and excess pride if they discovered that they could do magic. Neglect at home and at school, bad influences, and a lack of loved ones would be enough to drive anyone into the welcoming arms of the Dark side.

"What…" She cleared her throat. "What happened to him?"

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

"I'm afraid he made a terrible, terrible mistake… one that opened his eyes to the error of his ways but one that also cost him all that he loved… a mistake which he has since spent every day of his life paying back… Redemption yes, but the most painful kind because it comes with excruciating guilt that can bring even the strongest to their knees. Alas, the price to redeem one's soul may also shatter it completely." Dumbledore said, a wry smile on his wizened face. He paused, and in that moment, Hermione felt as if the weight of the burdens on his shoulders had increased tenfold as his face crumpled. "Many a day I wonder, had I welcomed him more openly… had I been more involved in his years at Hogwarts, he would not have turned to the Dark Lord as his only option…" Dumbledore sighed again. "It is my deepest regret to see him suffer now, but unfortunately I must do what is necessary…"

She nodded solemnly, but sensed that he was rambling now. Yet, she knew that there was a reason he was telling her this, and also sympathized for the elderly wizard who sat with an expression so deeply sorrowful that for a moment, she wondered whether or not she should excuse herself. However, just as she had this thought, the elderly wizard straightened up and peered at her once again over his half-moon spectacles.

"Now, you might be wondering for what reason I am telling you this," he said.

She nodded quickly.

"I believe that the same thing is happening again," he said quietly. "I believe that a young man, like the one before, is walking the path that was carved for him, but is … _hovering_ between two sides and in need of a guide. I have learned from my past mistakes, and it is of paramount importance, Miss Granger, that we extend our help to him before the other side does, not only for his sake, but for ours as well."

Hermione understood. But who was this young man? Her mind quickly sorted through all of their male friends and acquaintances, but no one seemed to fit the description along with the grave seriousness of the task that she believed Dumbledore was presenting before her.

Dumbledore continued. "I am hoping to entrust this important task to you Miss Granger, should you choose to take it upon you of course, though I would rather hope for you to hold onto this opportunity."

"I will help, sir." Hermione said, her voice coming out stronger than she felt. "But who…?"

"I believe you know him quite well," Dumbledore paused.

She waited.

"Draco Malfoy."

Her heart dropped to her feet. Draco Malfoy? _Draco Malfoy_?

"_What?" _Her voice came out sharp and shrill. "H-how would I be able to help, sir?" She asked. This must be some sort of cruel test. If he was asking her to do what she thought he was asking her to do… well, there was no way it was possible.

Dumbledore smiled gently. "I want you to offer him your friendship, Miss Granger."

Hermione choked.

"Professor, I don't — I _really_ don't think I can!" She exclaimed, thinking about how he had treated her for the past three years. "H-he hates me and he's terribly rude and always calls me a… well...you know…" She trailed off, feeling slightly embarrassed at her outburst.

Dumbledore merely looked at her. "Do you not agree with his beliefs, then?"

Her eyes widened. "Of course not, sir!"

He gave her a steady look, not unkind in anyway, but slightly reprimanding. "Insults only have the power to wound if you allow them to, Miss Granger. If you do not believe in those ideologies, those disparagements should not have the ability cause any harm.

His tone was soft but slowly, it dawned on her what he was getting at.

Her heart sank.

The moment she had set foot into Hogwarts, she had been hungry to learn, and she had always strived to exceed expectations, shooting her hand up with fervour for every question in class and always writing more than the word limit. She had always passed it off as a part of her ambitious nature, but had there possibly been something more to it? She didn't want to believe it, but... had a part of her wanted to prove her worth because she thought she might not be good enough? To show that she was no less?

The tugging feeling in her gut told her the answer, and the realization flooded her with a terrible eye-opening ease that pushed tears to her eyes.

She shook her head furiously, letting out a derisive laugh as it dawned on her.

"I thought it didn't bother me," she said lowly, her voice a whisper, "but all along…"

"There is no fault in concerning ourselves with what others think, my dear, however, we should not take to heart too much their words. If you believe in yourself, you will find that there is nothing to prove to others."

"Alright..." she nodded, still feeling rather agitated at her revelation. Shaking it off, she brought her attention back to more important matters at hand. "But how exactly can I help Malfoy, Professor? Especially when he's so adamant on hating me?"

"Mr. Malfoy has many issues of his own and whatever his actions and words may be, he is still young like you, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley. You must approach him by putting aside your differences, Miss Granger."

Her doubt must have showed on her face for his lips tightened ever so slightly and he looked at her with a firm gaze.

"You must see him for the person he is, not the person he thinks he is, do you understand? There is much more to this task than it may seem… much more significant than it may seem, especially in our current time." Dumbledore continued in a softer tone. "You must also remember that he was taught to hate you. He knows of nothing else but the beliefs that were instilled in him at a young age. From the very moment that he was born, he has been told that anything other than pureblood is lower than him, and he did not have a choice to believe otherwise."

As his words sank in, Hermione understood now why Dumbledore had told her the stories of the previous two men he had failed in the past. She had never hated Malfoy as much as Ron and Harry did, but had never given him any other thought aside from labelling him as "rude, arrogant, hypocritical prat" in her mental compartments. As painful as it was to consider, had she been too quick and dismissive in her judgements? Dumbledore's stare was quite stern, and underneath his perusal that seemed to stimulate rational thought, she realized that perhaps she had been hypocritical as well. Malfoy probably did have hardships that she was unaware of, but still... this mission was still impossible, even for her. Was it possible for Malfoy to change his beliefs? Hermione had been lucky herself to figure it out on her own; she couldn't imagine having to adopt whatever beliefs were enforced upon her, but Malfoy was just plain infuriating and she didn't trust herself to be civil if he ended up calling her nasty names or worse, cursed her.

"I understand that in a way, he might be a victim too, Professor, but I… I'm really not confident that I can succeed," she said in a small voice.

Dumbledore merely stared at her, his eyes inspecting her and almost seeing through her but not giving away anything that he was thinking.

"Keep this in mind Miss Granger: one's demeanour does not always reflect their true nature. I believe that there is still unextinguished good left inside him. One hand reached out to help may be enough. He must be shown, not only that that he must find his views and choose his path himself, but also that help will always be given to those who seek it."

Hermione nodded slowly, feeling less disillusioned, but as she remembered all the nasty things Malfoy had said in the past, all the immature things he had done, she felt the familiar anger stirring again in the pit of her stomach.

"But, sir," she said insistently. "Why is it so important that it's him? Will it truly make a difference?"

Dumbledore peered over his glasses again and his eyes held a sort of worldliness and wisdom in their blue depths as he spoke. "My dear, it is the difference between life and death... I believe that Draco is not dissimilar to Harry. They have both been born into roles that should not be expected of a child. They may be used as weapons and I do not wish for Draco to follow the same footsteps as the man I told you of. Even sowing a seed of doubt may be the difference in his final choice."

Recognizing the importance of the mission but still feeling vaguely confused, Hermione blinked and took a deep breath. "But how exactly can I go about befriending him? If Harry and Ron see me..."

"There have been slight adjustments made to your schedule, but have no fear," said Dumbledore, smiling slightly at her as she opened her mouth to protest. "It is minor and will have no effect on your academic endeavours as a whole. On the matter of and , for now, it would be better for your actions to go unnoticed. At least until you have made significant progress with ."

Hermione nodded numbly. She would have to keep a secret from Ron and Harry, something she absolutely hated doing, but she knew that the task would be even more impossible if they knew.

"There is no specific way to do this, Miss Granger, but understand that it will take time and effort. A soul is complex and delicate, and saving it will take great care and understanding."

"I'll try my best," Hermione breathed, trying to force her doubt down that Malfoy was about as delicate as a rock and his one-track mind seemed about as complex as a straight line.

"Have compassion, my dear, and believe in yourself. If you do, I have no doubt that you will succeed."

"Alright." She returned his warm smile with a hesitant one of her own, but nodded. Perhaps this was more important than it seemed.

"I am very grateful, Miss Granger. You are a very talented young witch," Dumbledore said, beaming.

Hermione coloured at the praise. "No, sir, it is my pleasure to help you. I … I really do want to help."

Dumbledore hummed appreciatively, and she took it as a sign that the meeting was concluded.

Standing up, she bid the Headmaster farewell, but before she made it out of the great oaken doors, she suddenly remembered something. She turned around.

"Professor?"

Dumbledore looked up from his desk.

"Who was the second man you spoke of?"

He gave her a melancholy smile. "Ah... unfortunately, that is not for me to tell, but I believe you shall discover soon. Let this absence of knowledge, however, make you compassionate towards those around you, and specifically, those opposite you. Remember that everyone has a past."

_Of course._

Mind numb, she nodded and exited the office.

Hermione didn't remember the walk back to her room. She was in a trance, struck by all the things Dumbledore had told her. As she lay in her four-poster bed, surrounded by quietly snoring, sleeping girls, a myriad of emotions raged inside of her. Shock at the nature of the mission. Dread for how she was going to go about befriending the target of said mission. Sadness for the personal stories he had told her. Shame at the belated discovery of her own insecurities…

Slowly, the myriad of emotions simmered down to a stone of misery, and Hermione lay there, for the first time in her life, not knowing what to think.

Fingering the edge of her blanket, she could now understand why Harry always came out of Dumbledore's office so melancholy and absorbed in his own thoughts. She hadn't known that enlightenment could be such a burden. Perhaps that was why they said ignorance was bliss…

That night, Hermione dreamed of a snake-like man, a man shrouded in black shadow, and a certain pale-blonde boy that fell out of her outreached hand as he plummeted down, down, down, into a black, swirling vortex of darkness.


	3. Battle Tactics

CHAPTER THREE

**Battle Tactics**

The next morning, Professor McGonagall handed out their schedules as per usual after breakfast had finished, and as Hermione did a quick scan of her parchment, she did a double take and choked on the pumpkin juice that she was sipping on.

"What's wrong, Hermione? Did they not manage to squeeze in all the courses you wanted to take?" Ron sniggered from across the table.

Normally she would have given him a half-joking glare, but she was too engrossed in the second schedule that was on the bottom half of her parchment. There was no name on it, but she had a pretty good inkling of who it may belong to.

She stole a glance at Professor McGonagall, but she did not appear to have given the parchment a second look.

"Oi, what's your schedule like?" The question processed in her cluttered mind a second too late, and before she could react, Ron had snatched up the schedule in her hands from the other side of the table.

"Ron, no!" She gasped, but Ron was already skimming over her schedule.

"Wow, you have a free period this year 'Mione?"

_I do? _

Momentarily forgetting about the current peril at hand, Hermione inwardly groaned at the new issue that had arisen. Free periods had always seemed like a waste of time to her. Then again, she supposed Dumbledore's task was slightly more important than her academic pursuits. After all, the only way she could have academic pursuits was if they won the war in the first place, provided she didn't die before that.

But still, it didn't hurt to think about her future.

"Damn," Ron continued. "It's not the same time as mine and Harry's… Arithmancy instead of Divination, but other than that, everything else looks just about the same." He grinned. "Nice. You can help us with our homework, then."

Hermione waited anxiously for him to see the schedule on the bottom, but he simply handed it back to her hands that were still outstretched, frozen above the table. After scrutinizing the parchment again, she realized that it must have been charmed for her eyes only.

_Thank Merlin_, she thought in relief. Ron and Harry had already been suspicious enough the night before when she had fed them an excuse about how Dumbledore was just concerned that her course load was too heavy, something she knew that Ron and Harry could not relate to, and therefore could not be suspicious of.

After reviewing her own schedule in detail and frowning at the spare block, she looked at Malfoy's and found that they had a few classes together. She had double Potions with him on Friday, and he was enrolled in Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures with her as well, the latter to her surprise, as she had assumed he would have dropped the class after the rather dramatic events with Buckbeak the previous year.

Forcing herself to finish going through Malfoy's schedule, she saw that he also had a free period — Wednesday before dinner. Their free periods were during the same block, no doubt the 'minor adjustment' Dumbledore had been referring to.

A wave of realization washed over her and she groaned. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this. For Merlin's sake, she didn't even know where to start! Shaking her head, she straightened herself out, more with resignation than resolution. If she wanted to succeed, then she needed a plan.

Hermione dreaded the coming Wednesday. Malfoy had made sarcastic retorts throughout Hagrid's class on Tuesday, and — lucky her — he sat right behind her in their Arithmancy class afterwards. She didn't have to interact with him at all that class, but the Ferret Incident, as it was now dubbed by Harry and Ron, and some other Gryffindors with glee, had occurred right afterwards.

It was inevitable. Every time she ran into him, she was either holding Harry and or Ron back, holding herself back, or watching him cause trouble by throwing hexes at Harry and or Ron.

How could she succeed?

As History of Magic drew to a close, Hermione's stomach twisted into knots. Racking her brain for Malfoy's timetable, she remembered that he should be finishing up Charms class. After saying a quick goodbye to Ron and Harry, she cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, something that she had proudly mastered recently, and made it to Professor Flitwick's classroom right as the doors burst open and the Slytherin and Ravenclaw students trickled out.

Straining her neck over the crowd, she caught a glimpse of slicked-back pale-blond hair. Sure enough, it was Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle with the usual contemptuous look on his face as he exited the classroom. After muttering something to his large bodyguards, he turned on his heel and headed in the direction of the staircase.

Hermione sighed, whether in relief or disappointment she didn't know. He was alone now, and she followed, wondering if he could perhaps be heading to her sanctuary. Sure enough, as she lingered a few feet behind him, the doors of the library came into view and she rushed ahead as he stepped into the library before the doors could close.

She tailed him as he walked towards the back of the large library into one of the aisles and took a seat at the table in a secluded corner that was adjacent to a large window overlooking the Quidditch pitch. Funnily enough, she noticed that it was directly opposite of her usual study area on the other side of the library.

She stood at the end of the aisle, not too close but not too far, and watched her nemesis take out his homework from his bag and place his ink bottles on the table.

And then something happened before her very eyes that she suddenly felt very awkward watching, as if she was watching some kind of personal scene unfold — which she supposed she was.

Malfoy sunk back into the chair, his legs crossed, gently resting his chin against his hand as he read the book he had propped up on his lap.

She had never seen him look so relaxed, his face wiped completely of any disgust or contempt. It was odd...like observing a stranger. But stranger than that, was the twinge of familiarity she felt watching him.

It was almost like observing herself, she realized, when she bathed in the comforts of the library. It was the first time in her life where Draco Malfoy looked… harmless.

She snorted immediately.

This…this situation was beyond strange.

This was insanity.

She was going to lose her mind.

_How_ on god's green earth would she even approach him? She couldn't just walk up to him and exchange pleasantries.

Moving to the aisle before the one he was sitting at the end of, she made sure that she was out of sight before releasing the Disillusionment Charm and slowly making her way down the aisle. Grabbing a random book off the shelf, she flipped to a random page and pretended to be immersed in it as she rounded the corner, where Malfoy's table would be.

She decided to hesitate a moment before she looked up and noticed him.

One…

Two…

On three, she looked up, and sure enough, he lifted his head to meet her gaze. Malfoy's shoulders immediately tensed, and his eyes narrowed, lips sliding into his trademark sneer.

"Well, well, well… if it isn't Granger. I knew I smelled something dirty around here," Malfoy drawled, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

Hermione's hands tightened around her book.

"So did I," she gritted out, a stab of annoyance loosening her tongue. "Though I didn't expect to find the source sitting right in front of me."

"Watch it, you filthy mudblood." Malfoy's eyes flashed with annoyance, his lips twisting into a snarl. "Wouldn't want to end up in the Hospital Wing so early in the year, would you?"

"Oh?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. The words escaped her lips before she could help it. "What are you going to do… turn me into a ferret?"

So much for self-control.

Within seconds, Malfoy had snapped the book closed and leapt to his feet, his wand centimetres from her face. "I'll do much worse than that. Potter was lucky that time, but there's no one around here to save you now, is there?" His eyes and words were full of venom, and she found herself trembling with anger, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

You must remember that he was taught to hate you.

Her hand trembled.

You must try to see him for who he is, not who he thinks he is.

"Damn it," she cursed under her breath at Dumbledore's voice in her head. With one last glare at Malfoy, she turned on her heel and rounded the corner before he could hex her, though not before catching a flicker of surprise on his face before she darted out of sight.

Oh, for heaven's sake!

Her first attempt had failed, there was no doubt in that. This was proving to be harder than she thought, and her expectations hadn't been low in the first place. She needed to come up with a better idea.

Sitting down at her usual table, she took out her books and finished her homework. If she was going to be spending half her free periods chasing after Malfoy, she really needed to be efficient with the other half.

After dinner, she found Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan huddled around the fire in the Gryffindor commons, talking about Moody and his Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Not feeling very chatty, she said a quick goodnight and headed up to the girls' dormitory. She needed to brainstorm.

Time was ticking.

After two weeks of stalking, watching, and observing had gone by, Hermione was sure that she could have been sorted into Slytherin. As bad as it sounded, she really was rather good at stalking. Upon realizing that it would be better to observe for a while, she had taken a step back, and her meticulous observation had paid off. Like Dumbledore had said, it would take time and effort.

On the third week, two Wednesdays after her first failed attempt, she cast the Disillusionment Charm on herself again after History of Magic was over. She made her way to the Charms corridor and waited for Malfoy to appear. Soon enough the door flew open, and she walked slightly behind him as he again made his way to the library. His pace was quick. Deliberate, as if he always had a purpose, somewhere to go. She had watched him for the past two weeks and today, she was prepared — she wouldn't fall prey to his provocations.

As he approached his usual seat in the secluded corner of the library, he paused in the aisle and pulled out a book from the shelf. Intermediate Charms, she read, before he took his spot and laid the book on the table to pull out his papers, a little plan formulating inside her head.

Perfect…

Ten minutes later, after giving Malfoy some time to himself before she sabotaged his study time, Hermione stepped into the aisle of shelves and let out a rather loud huff of impatience when she realized that the book she wanted wasn't there. Rounding the corner with an air of false innocence, she faced Malfoy who was writing on a piece of parchment.

"Malfoy." His scowl was in place before he even looked up. "Did you by any chance take Intermediate Charms?" Without waiting for his reply, Hermione walked over to his table and widened her eyes convincingly as she saw the book on his table. Malfoy's scowl deepened when he noticed that he indeed had Intermediate Charms.

"Don't even think about it," he sneered.

Hermione took a deep breath. She didn't even need the bloody book.

"Come on, Malfoy. It'll only be a minute."

"Not a chance. I just washed my hands. I don't want to touch it right after you've dirtied it with your mudblood germs," he spat. There was an almost victorious glint in his eyes, as if he had won the battle. He knew it too, that usually the taboo word would have caused her to scoff and stomp away, or rage at him with all her fury.

This time though, Hermione saw it coming.

"Why? Is your pure blood not superior enough to protect yourself from my so-called mudblood germs, Malfoy?" For a split second her heart raced anxiously but then, she watched in barely suppressed glee as his eye twitched and his lip curled even more. It had worked as she hoped. By saying the word herself, she had taken away one of his greatest weapons.

"Face it, Malfoy. You're scared, aren't you?" She pressed. "Scared of my lowly mudblood germs?"

Malfoy's eye twitched.

"I — am — not — scared," he growled dangerously.

"Prove it. Give me the book," she said promptly, placing her hands on the table and leaning forward.

"You —"

"Come on, Malfoy, even you're not petty enough to hex me over a book, are you?" She smiled smugly as the muscle in his jaw twitched. Seconds went by in silence. He was clearly having a difficult time deciding whether or not he was petty enough.

Finally, she let out a dramatic sigh and removed her hands from the table. "Fine. You know what? Keep the bloody book. Since you're so unwilling to give it up, I'll leave." And with that, she marched away and turned the corner. She half expected him to shout at her or send a hex at her back, but the library remained silent.

* * *

Draco's eye twitched as he watched Potter's female sidekick stalk away without a word. What the hell was she playing at? He knew that his jibe had been more than adequate — usually, a well-placed snarl and a 'mudblood' was sufficient. He hadn't expected her to look so unfazed. Calling herself a mudblood and then somehow twisting it so that he was the scared one.

He scoffed. Stupid Gryffindor. Just because she used the word herself didn't make it less valid. At least not in his eyes. It didn't matter how smart that Granger was; she was still a mudblood, and he growled as he thought about the way she had cornered him.

He glanced at the book sitting innocently on his table.

Damn it all.

Somehow, he had still played into her trap. If he left it there, he'd prove that he was petty enough. If he gave it to her, he'd be a sodding wimp.

Is your pure blood not superior enough to protect yourself from my so-called mudblood germs?

Her voice echoed in his head and he grimaced. Leave it to her polluted mind to come up with some new logic that didn't make sense at all.

He went back to his parchment, but the book sat there like a reminder of the mudblood herself.

After a few moments, he glared in annoyance at the book. Fine. He couldn't focus with the sodding thing sitting there, staring at him anyways.

* * *

Hermione made sure she was out of sight before she grinned with glee. Her plan had been a success! She had managed to — by Malfoy standards, at least — have a somewhat civil conversation with him that she came away from perfectly intact. No wands had been pulled either. True, he hadn't given her the book, but that part had been more of a front than an actual test.

All in all, she had emerged the victor in today's battle and it felt … good. As she still had another twenty minutes left to spend, Hermione replayed their conversation multiple times, stashing away his reactions and compartmentalizing them in her head. After taking a seat in her usual spot, she pulled out a random book from the shelf closest to her and started to read.

As the time came to an end, Hermione was so engrossed in her book that she didn't hear the soft footsteps that approached her.

There was a quiet thud on her table, and reluctantly peeling her eyes away from the page, she caught a glimpse of a pale hand retracting quickly, the swish of dark robes, and white-blonde hair rounding the corner and out of sight.

She glanced down out at the table and felt a jolt of surprise, her mouth dropping open.

_Intermediate Charms_ lay flat on the wooden desk.


	4. A Git, A Gentleman

CHAPTER FOUR

**A Git, A Gentleman**

Hermione didn't get another chance to speak with Malfoy for another three weeks. The first week after her successful attempt, Malfoy had retreated into the Slytherin common room with Crabbe and Goyle, and there was absolutely no way she was going to risk her life by entering the snake nest. She would give the task her all, but in terms of how she would go about doing it… well, she had her limits.

The second week after, he had gone to the Quidditch pitch to practice by himself, and as she watched from the sidelines, she couldn't help noticing that he was a rather good flier. Unlike Harry, there was something elegant and graceful in the way he manoeuvred the broomstick. The confidence of experience, she supposed, remembering how he had bragged incessantly about flying since childhood.

When her third chance to talk to Malfoy presented itself, it was already nearing the end of October. The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students were due to arrive in a week, and once the school was filled with even more students prancing about, she knew she would have an even harder time locating Malfoy.

Hermione watched from the end of the aisle again as Malfoy worked in silence, his quill never seeming to still. She had to admit, he was incredibly studious and was also more intelligent than she had previously given him credit for. She had overheard Pansy Parkinson telling her friends how Malfoy was at the top, second to only a certain mudblood, who in Pansy's words, "didn't count". At first, she had been shocked, then annoyed, but upon further observation, Hermione had begrudgingly accepted it. After all, it took a mastermind to think of all those sarcastic retorts and evil plans.

Frustrated with just standing there, she lifted her Disillusionment Charm and walked up behind him, forgetting that she hadn't really thought of a solid plan.

"Er… Malfoy," she began, inwardly cursing her lack of social skills. "I just wanted to say thanks... you know… for the book."

Malfoy turned abruptly in his chair and glared up at her, his usual scowl twisting his features.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he growled, turning back to his essay. "Get out of my sight."

Git, she thought viciously, but decided not to press the matter further as it must have hurt his pride to give her the book. She meandered into the neighbouring aisle and gazed up at the books. He did choose a rather nice section to sit in. Picking out a random book, she flipped through the pages, and felt the burn of his glare on her back. Feeling uncomfortable again, she moved around the shelf to the other side, effectively shielding herself from view.

Sliding the book back onto the shelf, unsatisfied, she glanced up higher at the ridiculously tall shelves and saw a few thick books that piqued her interest. Pulling the rolling ladder towards her, she took a breath and looked up again. It was only what… ten feet? Clamping down on her slight fear of heights, she started climbing up the ladder, hands tightly gripping the wooden planks on either side. As she reached the top, she smiled as she found a few books on Elfish History and Service and began pulling them out, stacking them onto the other hand enthusiastically. As she reached over to the right and pulled the spine of a particularly thick book, she recognized her mistake too soon as the books above it shifted and the whole stack tipped precariously on the edge of the shelf. As if in slow motion, she watched, helpless, as the stack hit her in the chest and hands, and she lost grip of the ladder.

The next thing she knew, Hermione was flat on her back, books lying all around her on the thick carpet floor. The back of her head felt numb and she groaned as the pain began to spread up and down her body. As she recovered from the whirling sensation in her head and slowly pulled books of her body with extreme effort, she heard footsteps quickly approach and round the corner.

"Bloody hell! Keep it down, will you?"

Damn it. She had forgotten about him.

Both the voice and the footsteps halted.

"What on earth are you doing?" Malfoy asked, incredulity creeping into his voice.

She looked up at his face looming over her in the entrance of the aisle and yelped in pain as her neck protested.

"What does it look like," she said sarcastically, reaching up to massage her neck, "I'm having a party with my books."

A mixture of emotions fluttered over his face including disbelief before settling on annoyance.

"How idiotic," he drawled, his lip curling slightly. "I assume you tried to take multiple books off the highest shelf at once."

Damn.

"Sod off, Malfoy." She glared at him as menacingly as she could from her disadvantageous vantage point on the ground. "…Unless you're going to help me."

Malfoy seemed more offended at the insinuation of the latter. "I will most certainly not help you."

"Then leave," Hermione retorted irritably, gingerly testing her weight on her feet as she sat up. Even her bottom ached.

An irritating smirk bloomed on his face. "Actually, I don't think I will. Someone needs to witness this incredibly embarrassing situation…"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she started to stack the books beside her neatly into piles, trying to ignore the looming figure a few feet away from her.

"What kind of books did you so desperately want to read anyways?" Malfoy sneered, poking one of the books near him with his black leather boot.

The kind that you wouldn't.

"I'm researching on house-elves," she said, taking a deep breath. "Did you know that there are loads of them at Hogwarts?"

He blinked. "And?"

"And it's slave labour!" She said impatiently.

"Slave labour?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow and she rolled her eyes. "You do know that it's their job to serve, Granger."

She shook her head. "Even so, they deserve their own set of rights and freedoms, not to mention off-days and financial compensation."

He let out a noise between a derisive laugh and a scoff. "That right there is exactly why people like you are the embarrassment of our society, Granger."

"Well, I don't expect you to understand." Hermione regretted the words as soon as they came out, but his lofty tone was starting to annoy her.

"And what do you mean by that?" Malfoy was glaring at her now with an equal amount of menace, all traces of his haughty smirk gone.

"It means," she replied through gritted teeth, feeling the familiar annoyance bubble up in her stomach, "that I wouldn't expect someone who cannot even grasp the basic moral concept of human equality, to understand or even comprehend the suffering of non-human creatures." Turning to face Malfoy, she watched as he stalked slowly towards her, like a predator stalking its prey. A feeling of dread bloomed in her stomach, but her anger overpowered it.

"Basic moral concept of human equality," he repeated scathingly, an ugly smirk contorting his features. "Of course… sounds like something your idiotic and incapable Muggle parents would say."

Hermione felt all of her self-control snap. Insult her? Fine. But not her parents.

"Don't you dare insult my parents, Malfoy!" She snapped. Her hands gripped the table behind her, knuckles turning white, and she ignored the conscience Dumbledore in her head that was telling her to stop. She knew she shouldn't stoop as low and insult his parents but all threads of control had snapped. "At least my parents let me think for myself. Incapable to me is forcing your beliefs onto your children and idiotic is accepting those beliefs without question!"

"You—"

Hermione barrelled on, ignoring the stormy look in his grey eyes that were flashing with anger. "Have you ever made a decision for yourself, Malfoy? Have you ever questioned or chosen your beliefs? I'm willing to bet that the very things you believe, all that pureblood ideology and prejudice, was handed down to you by your father! You have no right to insult my Muggle parents when they're every bit better than -"

"Shut up!" Malfoy had whipped out his wand now, his lips bared back into a snarl. "You don't understand anything! My father is a respectable man and you have no right talking about him like that, you filthy mudblood!"

"You're the one who insulted my parents first!" Hermione cried in disbelief. "And respectable man? You think that the man who taught you that I'm no better than the dirt on the bottom of your shoes, is respectable?" She closed the distance between them in two strides, so that Malfoy's wand was now piercing her chest. His eyes widened by a fraction, but she was too angry to care. "Go on. Hex me, Malfoy. Or even better, kill me. Prove me right. Make your father proud."

Her chest was heaving by this point, her voice tight with rage. Her eyes locked with Malfoy grey ones, a head taller than her, and she saw fury, hatred, stubborn refusal, and for a split second… uncertainty? Hermione couldn't stop to think. Her hands were shaking, her chest rapidly rising and falling, and her body still ached from her previous fall that seemed like it happened years ago.

After what seemed like minutes of intense staring, she suddenly felt something wet drip down the side of her cheek. What the — is the roof leaking? Feeling annoyed, she wiped her face with her hand, and was shocked to see blood. She grimaced. The texts must have hit her harder than she thought.

She looked up and saw alarm overshadow the anger in Malfoy's eyes before it was replaced with disdain. He glanced at the side of her head and slowly lowered his wand. Glowering at her, the muscles in his jaw clinched together tightly.

"Get out," he growled.

"I'm fine," she said, rather pathetically, seeing that blood was dripping down her face. She couldn't leave with the way things were, even if it meant bleeding to death.

Malfoy scowled. "Don't try to be bloody heroic."

She sighed in exasperation. "Well, I'm already bloody, but I'm not trying to be heroic."

Malfoy's scowl deepened, clearly unamused by her quip.

Clutching the side of her head, she dabbed gently at the wound with her sleeve. He looked torn between confusion and distaste.

"Suit yourself," he said, finally, his voice cold. "I'm not the one bleeding to death."

Hermione waited for him to walk off, back to his essay, but he stayed put, surprising her again. As she looked into his frigid grey eyes, she suddenly felt a flicker of uncertainty, similar to the confusion she had felt the first time he had treated her terribly after finding out she was a Muggle-born. Something clicked in her mind. She had known him since she was eleven, and the expression he was wearing now was so familiar but beyond that cold glare and the aggressive stance… nothing. Her breath caught in her throat.

He was taught to hate you.

He has nothing else to believe in.

See him for the person he is, not the person he thinks he is.

Dumbledore's words echoed through her head again, and swallowing hard, Hermione realized she didn't want to be taking two steps forward and three steps back.

"Look Malfoy," she started levelly, taking a deep breath, "I'm … I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. You aren't your father."

Malfoy regarded her with narrowed eyes.

"You don't know anything," he snapped, though he seemed slightly calmer than before.

"You're right. I don't really know anything about you," Hermione admitted, "_but_, that goes both ways." Maybe she didn't know as much as she thought, but he certainly didn't seem to know anything about her or Muggles either.

Something in his eyes flickered, but before she could pinpoint it, his eyes narrowed to slits.

"My opinions won't change, Granger," he hissed, "because they're true."

"I don't think so, Malfoy," she said calmly, trying to stick to her diplomatic approach. "Your hatred towards me is illogical. It's..." She struggled for the right word. "…conditioned. Taught."

"There's nothing illogical about it," he retorted, shaking his head. "And if you think I'm going to waste my time explaining to you, then you can think again."

"Then at least explain to me, Malfoy," Hermione said softly, "why it is that you hate me. Why exactly do you think that Muggles are lesser beings?" She paused, took his silence as encouragement and continued. "How would you even know what Muggles are like if you've spent your life avoiding and hating them?"

For a split second, Malfoy looked almost at loss, but it was gone as soon as it came, replaced quickly by a haughty lift of his chin.

"What they're like is of little relevance," he retorted. "All that matters is that mudbloods like you are polluting the bloodstream. You have no respect for wizarding culture and traditions; you trying to free house-elves for one is an example of flouting societal norms. It just isn't right how Muggle-borns have Muggle parents and yet have magical ability. It's akin to stealing magic and taking over what should be wizards' alone."

Hermione frowned. She could almost understand the bit about wizarding culture, but...

"Stealing magic? Listen to yourself, Malfoy…How is that even a feasible explanation?"

"It explains Squibs," he said matter-of-factly, folding his arms defiantly.

She paused for a moment before shaking her head. "Malfoy, even if I did know how to steal someone's magic, the number of Squibs is far less than the number of Muggle-born wizards and witches."

He glared at her, but she swore she saw a flash of doubt in his eyes. "Well, it's still impossible for Muggles to even be equal to wizards, without magic," he growled.

Shaking her head, she let out a sigh. "Look it up yourself, Malfoy. If you're going to live your life centered around the idea that purebloods are superior to everyone else, then you better believe it's one hundred percent true. Don't just simply take it at face value because that's what you're told. Read a book or something," she forced out. She was starting to feel dizzy at the loss of blood. "Anyways, I'm off to the Hospital wing. Thanks for not…er…" Why was she thanking him again? "Thanks for not hexing me."

Malfoy made some kind of undecipherable noise and scowled, but perhaps there was a chance that he had listened to her words.

Feeling slightly more encouraged at that thought, Hermione walked around him and out of the library, thankful that there were barely any students around to overhear their noisy exchange. They had had a full-fledged fight and part of Hermione was absolutely furious, but it ended with Malfoy looking slightly shaken and that was more than enough to settle her anger.

A flutter of encouragement settled in her belly. Dumbledore had been right and Malfoy had proved so himself.

It was truly a matter of ignorance, and who else would have a better arsenal of information to share than her?

* * *

Draco stood in the aisle as Granger's footsteps receded into the background. Damn it. Had she taken his book as some symbol of truce? He gritted his teeth. He'd be damned if he took a mudblood's word to heart, but what she said had angered him beyond belief.

Slave labour? He snorted. _Sweet Salazar_, that girl was embarrassing herself. The more she went on about house-elves and non-human creatures, the more she revealed how little she knew about the Wizarding World. Then she had insinuated that her Muggle parents were better than his and he had all but lost his temper.

Technically, she hadn't been entirely wrong in one regard. His father was a great factor in his beliefs but it was for good reason. It wasn't as if he couldn't think for himself. Lucius Malfoy was a respected wizard in the community — clearly, he had done something right.

And then she had walked up to him in all her fury, until his wand had dug into her chest. He couldn't lie, he had been a bit surprised at her recklessness. Malfoys always valued a worthy opponent, and for a second, she had almost seemed not quite so unworthy — but he had quickly clamped down on that thought. Like everything, there was bound to be exceptions. Annoying as she was, he couldn't deny that Granger was bloody intelligent, but she was merely an outlier — a deviation from the normal.

Shaking his head, her parting words echoed in his head.

_If you're going to live your life centered around the idea that purebloods are superior to everyone else, then you best believe it's one hundred percent true. Don't just simply take it at face value because that's what you're told. Read a book._

The nerve! Of course he believed it to be one hundred percent true. Or more so, why wouldn't it be true? Magic was undoubtedly superior to no magic… He scoffed. After all, was pure water not superior to mud? It was fact, and like his father often said, anything else was an excuse said by blood traitors and mudbloods to justify their birthright.

He shook his head.

This was ridiculous. Why was he even thinking about Granger in the first place? If he kept fussing over all this nonsense, it would mean that she had gotten under his skin, and Draco could swear on the whole of the Malfoy inheritance that she had not.

* * *

It was already two weeks into November before Hermione could muster up the energy to even think about approaching Malfoy again. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had arrived on Halloween, and everything had gone as normal. Ron had fanboyed over Viktor Krum, at which Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help but laugh at with Harry. Ron had drooled over the Beauxbatons girls as well, which was no surprise either, but earned only an eye-roll from Hermione.

The cup had been displayed in all its splendour, and all was normal and well until Harry's name came out of the goblet, though Hermione supposed that it wouldn't be considered normal if trouble didn't occur where Harry was. Her worries had been heightened, and the mood in the school had been extremely tense, especially considering the current climate in the Wizarding World. Hermione knew that Harry couldn't have placed his name in the goblet even if he had wanted to and feared the impending dangers to come.

The rest of the school, however, was a different matter.

Overcome with jealousy, even Ron had cut off contact with Harry completely. No one believed that Harry didn't put his name in the goblet except her. By the time Friday came around, after a week of holding Harry back and comforting him, Hermione could tell that his thin band of control was dangerously close to snapping. Unfortunately, the last class of the week was Double Potions with the Slytherins and it seemed that both her and Harry were about to have a sooner interaction with Malfoy than she had planned.

As they stepped into the dungeon corridor after lunch, they found the Slytherins waiting outside, each one of them wearing a large badge on his or her robes that all bore the same message in luminous, flashing letters.

_Support CEDRIC DIGGORY —_

_the REAL Hogwarts Champion! _

"Like them, Potter?" Malfoy drawled loudly as the two of them stopped outside Snape's dungeon. "And this isn't all they do — look!"

He pressed his badge, and the message upon it vanished, replaced by another one which glowed a repugnant shade of green.

_POTTER STINKS_

A rising ball of annoyance and dread grew in Hermione's stomach as the Slytherins howled with laughter, each one of them pressing their badges until all of them read the identical message.

_Seriously_, how juvenile could they get? She bit down on her tongue from refraining saying something she would regret to Malfoy and darted a quick glance at Harry, who was looking more and more angry as the seconds passed. To make things worse, Ron was leaning against the wall by Dean and Seamus, neither laughing at nor defending Harry. The sound of laughter grew louder, and she glared at Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing louder than anyone else.

"Oh, very funny," she said sarcastically to Pansy, who she decided was still fair game, even though Malfoy wasn't. "Real witty. Perhaps if you put the same effort in doing your homework instead, you wouldn't be failing school."

Pansy immediately stopped laughing, her pug-like face twisting into an outraged expression. Suddenly, Malfoy's voice cut in.

"Would you like one, Granger?" He asked, holding out a badge to her, a haughty smirk on his face. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand now. You see, I just wa —"

"What? You just washed them? And to think you'd have thought of something new by now," she interrupted him loudly, knowing where he was headed. Memories of their last encounter flooded her mind, and she couldn't help but feel smug. No doubt he had thought of the same memory, as his grey eyes suddenly flashed, his smirk disappearing off his face.

"You think you're so smart, don't you, you little mudblood?" He growled, and a few gasps arose from the Gryffindors.

Before she could even register what was happening, people were scrambling out of the way and backing down the corridor. She spun around to see that Harry had drawn his wand, an expression of uncontrolled fury on his face.

"Harry! Stop!" She cried warningly, but he paid her no heed.

"Go on then, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, his eyes glinting with malice as he drew out his own wand. "Let's see what you got."

Hermione inwardly groaned.

For a split second, no one moved and the air was charged with tension.

And then, at the exact same time, both acted.

* * *

"Densaugeo!" Draco shouted, his body tense and alive, blood roaring in his ears as Potter yelled out a curse with equal intensity.

Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in mid-air, and to his dismay, ricocheted off at angles. He watched, as if in slow motion, as Potter's curse hit Goyle in the face and his own hex hit Granger.

Goyle bellowed and put his hands up to his face as boils began to spring into existence, while Granger whimpered in panic, clutching at her mouth.

_Damn it. _

He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do as surprise momentarily replaced his anger.

And then all hell broke loose.

"Hermione!" Weasley hurried towards her, dragging her hand away from her face. The sight made his eyebrows jump up and caused Pansy to erupt into a fit of giggles.

"Nice hit, Draco!" She exclaimed loudly, still giggling.

He smirked. He didn't know that the spell would work so well. Granger's front teeth — already larger than the usual witch — were now growing at an alarming rate. They were already past her bottom lip and heading towards her chin.

His amusement was interrupted by a soft, deadly voice.

"And what is all this noise about?"

Snape had arrived, and all thoughts forgotten, Draco spun around and opened his mouth to provide an explanation.

* * *

Hermione strode with purpose down the spacious corridors, feeling her anger rise again with every step. It had been a week after the hex incident, but she could feel her ire accumulating strength as she headed closer and closer to her destination. Bugger her plan, she had had quite enough, and as she marched through the library doors, came to a stop at his usually place during his free period and slammed her palms down on the table Malfoy was sitting at.

"_Really_, Malfoy," she huffed angrily. "Was it necessary to provoke Harry like that?"

Malfoy looked up from his book with his trademark get-out-of-my-face glare — an especially poisonous one at that. "I'm hardly responsible for Potter's actions, am I? It's hardly my fault that he can't control his temper."

She glared at him. "That's a bit rich coming from you."

His eyes narrowed, but instead of being directed at her, they seemed to be focused on the lower half of her face. He stared for a few seconds without saying anything, making her feel increasingly uncomfortable.

"What," she said rather crossly, slightly taken off balance by his unrelenting gaze.

"Your teeth look different," he stated, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to say to her. As if he hadn't been the one to hex her.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Well, Malfoy, they're not a meter long now are they? No thanks to you," she added spitefully.

"It's not that," he snapped.

"Then what," she asked, genuinely curious. It wasn't as if she had expected an apology — no, that was ludicrous — but he had not pulled out his wand to blast her from the table yet. Why couldn't he act like this usually?

"They're not…" His lip curled, as if he regretted mentioning it. "They're different from... _before_."

Hermione blinked. She had stopped Madam Pomfrey slightly after her teeth had shortened to their previous length, in hopes that her slightly too-large front teeth would finally be normal-sized. However, not even Ron and Harry had noticed yet.

Noting Hermione's slightly taken aback expression, Malfoy scowled again.

"You look worse," he growled, and Hermione almost laughed, before reminding herself that he was the one who had hexed her, and did not seem apologetic in the least.

"Look, I have to ask," she said, noting with relief that his Potter Stinks badge was nowhere to be seen. She sat down in the chair opposite of Malfoy.

He looked up in alarm, grey eyes flashing. "Granger, do not sit at my table. I don't want anyone thinking that I'm willingly sitting here with you."

"Oh, grow up, will you," Hermione grumbled. "There's no one around, now will you please listen to me?"

"No."

She ignored him. "Do you really think that Harry entered himself in the tournament?"

This question seemed to take him by surprise and he looked up from his book at her.

"It seems like something attention-loving Potter would do," he growled, his surprise smoothed over with another scowl.

Hermione shook her head. "Malfoy… do you think that Harry is magically talented or particularly intelligent?"

His lip curled in disdain. "Bloody hell, no. Potter wouldn't be able to think up a single intelligent idea by himself if his life depended–"

"Exactly!" She interrupted.

He scowled at her, but a flash of mild surprise went through his eyes.

"Think about it," she continued. "Do you honestly believe that Harry has the magical abilities to first cross over the age line – created by Dumbledore, mind you – and then fool a powerful magical object?"

He went silent for a minute and she could see the gears in his brain working, his grey eyes shifting with thought.

"Not to mention," she continued, "that these are dangerous, risky events that he has to face. There's someone out there who wants to hurt him!"

A pause.

"And why are you telling me, Granger?" He finally said, his lip curling in distaste. "I'm not going to comfort Potter and give him a pat on the back."

Hermione sighed heavily and slumped down in her chair. "It's because you're the only one who can understand."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Malfoy, I'm not an insufferable know-it-all for no reason. I'm aware that you're right behind me in our year."

His eyebrows shot up and he looked at her again, his grey eyes full of mockery and…amusement?

"That a compliment, Granger? Have you been hit in the head?" Mock contemplation was replaced by an even more irritating look of false realization. "Oh wait… you were."

Hermione glared at him. "I'll have you know there is nothing wrong with my head."

"Questionable," Malfoy shot back. "You haven't been raising your hand like a madwoman every two seconds in class."

Hermione was caught off guard again. He was right. Ever since Dumbledore had enlightened her and aided in her self-discovery that she was really trying to prove her self-worth, she had tried to not be as unnecessarily eager in the classroom. She had even shortened her essays to the required amount.

"You noticed?" She asked, slightly taken aback. He was quite observant, but then again, she shouldn't be surprised... the nosy ferret he was.

"It's difficult not to," he replied smoothly. "It was perfectly silent for once without that irritating voice of yours — "

"Whatever…" Hermione grumbled, sinking lower into her chair. Leave it to Malfoy to turn everything he said into an insult. She knew that the conversation was over but testing her luck, she didn't move from her position. As she watched Malfoy continue writing his essay, she marvelled at the strangeness of the situation. If Ron and Harry saw her right now, they would think she had gone mad, or had somehow developed a liking towards being verbally abused.

She let out a heavy sigh.

As the minutes drained away, Malfoy occasionally looked up and scowled at her, as if silently asking why she was still there, but he never voiced it out loud, so she stayed. She would have been happier about that, but she really had run out of her energy for the day.

Closing her eyes, she thought of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry was going to need all the help he could get.

* * *

Draco headed to the common room after dinner, feeling inexplicably irritated. His mini-duel in the dungeon with Potter had left him in a good mood for the past week, but the mudblood had once again made an unwanted appearance, blabbing about Potter and sitting down at his table. It was degrading, and frankly, it was bothersome. Moreover, it was somewhat odd.

Was he not as intimidating as he used to be? Was he losing his touch?

But then again, Granger had never responded to his taunts as well as Potter and Weasel did. Feeling slightly reassured about himself, he stepped into the common room that was dimly lit with green lanterns and the fire place.

No matter. If it was simply a forgetfulness that stemmed from his distractedness of late, then he'd make sure to provide her a reminder next time, free of charge.

Stalking up the stone staircase to the dormitory, he entered the chamber of four-posters and was greeted by a familiar voice.

"_There_ you are."

He looked up and saw Theo, sitting cross-legged on his bed and playing a game of wizard chess with Blaise, who nodded at Draco as he came in.

Draco tilted his head stiffly in greeting before crossing over to his bed, upon which a creamy white envelope was placed.

"An owl dropped it off 'bout an hour ago," Theo called from the other side of the room. "Gave me a bit of a hard time, too, that one..."

Picking up the letter on his satin linen, he took the parchment out of the envelope and immediately recognized his father's handwriting. His jaw tensed and making sure to close the curtains around his four-poster with a flick of his wand, he unfolded the parchment and began to read:

_Draco,_

_ I am not pleased to hear that Harry Potter has once more lived up to his name as the Chosen One. I heard from the Minister that the Triwizard Tournament was exclusive to those above the age of seventeen? I expect your immediate reply involving how this was possible, and furthermore, why you were not selected if another of your age was. Once again, I find myself needing to remind you that you are the sole progeny upholding the Malfoy name. It will do you well to exert your efforts where they should be focused; you are no longer a boy and there are expectations you must rise to. I find myself needing to remind you once more that it is not prudent to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of your kind regard him as the hero who defeated the Dark Lord. Do exercise some restraint. _

_Your mother wishes you well._

_L.M. _

Draco crumpled the paper tightly between his fist, gritting his teeth.

Potter again…

This day was just getting worse and worse. Every time his father owled him, it was always about bloody Potter.

_Do exercise some restraint._

His mouth contorted bitterly.

Perhaps his father was the one who needed some self-control.

* * *

Hermione was utterly, bone-achingly exhausted.

She had spent all of her free time helping Harry with the Summoning Charm. It had paid off however, as Harry managed to retrieve the egg successfully and receive an impressive score, even with Karkaroff's biased mark. Moreover, Ron had finally seen the fault in his ways and had made up with Harry.

About time, she thought. Sometimes, Ron was really quite dense but she was glad that he had come to his senses.

There had been an explosion of cheers and victory banners in the Gryffindor Common room, and Fred and George had once again managed to sneak in treats from Merlin-knows-where. A full-fledged party had ensued, and Hermione was glad to celebrate joyously with everyone else, effectively taking her mind off of things with the blond Slytherin.

To top it all off, she had found the secret entrance to the kitchens and had encountered Dobby there. She practically had to drag Ron and Harry down into the kitchens so that they could see the eager house-elf.

All in all, things were truly looking up for her. Malfoy had not publicly provoked the trio as of late, Harry was not in any imminent danger, and Hermione had received an O on her Potions essay. It seemed that Professor Snape appreciated her decrease in class participation and shortening of her essays, writing exactly 48 inches as he had asked.

As the days hurtled by and December came, Hermione realized that it had been two weeks since she last talked to Malfoy. However, she figured that she could put it off for another few days. Making her way to the library, she smiled to herself as the smell of parchment rushed to embrace her as she stepped forward through the doors. She had momentarily forgotten how much pleasure and calm the library brought her. Glancing up at the high shelves, she spotted a few books that interested her, but this time, she didn't trust herself with the ladder. Pulling out her wand, she concentrated on the single book.

"Accio!"

Needless to say, no matter how hard she concentrated on that one book, it wasn't surprising that two other thick hardcovers stacked tightly by its side also flew off the shelf. With a yelp, she caught two of the three books in her hand and raised them above her head, hoping to shield herself from the incoming impact of the third book. It never came.

A blur of burgundy.

She turned around, ready to thank her saviour, and her eyes widened.

None other than Viktor Krum was holding the final book in his hands.

"Are you alright?" He spoke gruffly, his accent strange to her ears but not unpleasant.

"Er –yes, thank you," she breathed out, studying Viktor's face. He was tall, but not as tall as Ron. Up close, he didn't look nearly as intimidating as he did in his Quidditch posters.

Viktor handed her the book, and she thanked him again, feeling utterly embarrassed. At least it hadn't been Malfoy. The git would probably have enjoyed watching the books land on her head.

"You are Harry Potter's friend, yes?" Viktor gave her a warm smile. "Hermy-own?"

She smiled and corrected him. "Hermione."

"Her-mi-oh-knee," he tried again, his dark eyebrows furrowed.

She let out an awkward chuckle. "Close enough. Viktor, right?"

He nodded, looking a bit more relaxed. "May I ask vot are you reading about?"

"House-elves," she said, feeling pleasantly surprised that he had asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a group of girls whispering quietly and glaring at her. "I don't think your fan club approves of me talking to you," she said, raising an eyebrow.

There was a flash of annoyance on his brooding face. "I am sorry about that," he replied, looking grim. "They follow me everyvere, it is most difficult."

Hermione saw how troubled he looked and realized how she had once again jumped to conclusions. She had previously thought Viktor to be an arrogant celebrity who had too much pride. Instead, he seemed kind and down-to-earth. Feeling ashamed, she gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Have you tried the Disillusionment Charm?" She suggested quietly.

"The vot?"

"It's a spell that makes you invisible - er, not perfectly, but almost… would you like me to show you?"

Viktor nodded eagerly. With a tap of her wand, the charm settled into his body and he blended into the background like a chameleon.

There was a moment of silence. Hermione assumed that Viktor was busy testing the charm so he wasn't talking. She watched as the gaggle of girls on the other side of the library stopped whispering, looking disappointed. Whining about where he went, Madam Pince came around the corner, shooed them out for being noisy and went back to her spot in the middle of the library.

She turned to Viktor and reached out awkwardly before feeling something solid.

"Oh good, you're still here." She patted what she assumed to be his shoulder. "I'm going to release the spell now."

Hermione flicked her wand in his general direction and Viktor came back into view, this time with a genuine smile on his face that made him look friendly and approachable. Hermione realized that her hand was on his chest instead of his shoulder and quickly pulled it back.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"Do not be sorry," Viktor replied, "that vos very … how to say… oh — impressiff! Yes, vill you teach me, Hermy-own?"

In his excitement, Viktor had resorted back to his original pronunciation of her name, but she found that she didn't mind.

"Of course," she agreed. After all, it would benefit both of them if the fan club stayed out of the library.

Hermione spent the next few minutes going over the charm and was surprised at how quickly Viktor caught on, mastering it after two tries. He was definitely Durmstrang champion for a good reason.

"Thank you," he said graciously with a smile after he had practiced a few more times. "I vill use it veil."

"Glad to help," Hermione smiled back, "after all, you caught my book for me and saved me from a painful headache."

Viktor seemed to blush lightly. All of Hermione's previous assumptions melted away completely.

"Well, I'm sure you have lots to do," she said, "I'll see you around?"

He nodded, smiling.

Flashing him a grin, Hermione turned on her heel and walked away. She was in a surprisingly better mood after talking to him.

Settling into a comfy armchair, Hermione picked out a novel from her acquired stack and felt the weight on her shoulders disappear completely. Whether it be gits like Malfoy, or gentlemen like Viktor…one thing was for sure.

She needed some time alone with her books.


	5. Yuletide Spirit

CHAPTER FIVE

**Yuletide Spirit**

Christmas was two weeks away, and Hogwarts had once again bloomed with the most festive decorations Hermione had seen in all of her four years there. She suspected that the school wanted to show Durmstrang and Beauxbatons that Hogwarts did not do Christmas half-heartedly.

She sat in the usual spot in the library one Saturday afternoon, thankful that it had been peaceful and quiet in the library. Viktor's fan club had not reappeared since the last time when she had taught him how to do the Disillusionment Charm. Hermione smiled, knowing that he was probably nearby using the Charm. Ever since the Yule Ball had been announced, the girls had been even more relentless, tracking him down every second that he wasn't invisible and basically throwing themselves at him. Flipping through the pages of Elfish History and Service, she barely heard the whisper behind her.

"Hermy-own." The accent was unmistakable. She glanced behind her, however, no one was there. A second later, Viktor appeared a few feet away from her, his wand still by his head. He looked oddly nervous.

"Oh — Viktor," she blinked. She was a bit surprised to see him approach her again.

"Hello," Viktor replied softly. "Are you still reading about house-elves?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, and I see you've been using the charm well."

Viktor smiled. "Yes, it has helped me immensely. I don't know vy I didn't search for a spell like that before."

"That's good," she smiled genuinely. "I noticed your fan club has been especially horrendous since the Yule Ball was announced."

"Vell… actually, I wanted to ask you." Viktor shifted his weight from side to side and gave her a sheepish smile. "Vell you go to the ball with me?

Hermione inhaled sharply and stared at him wide-eyes.

"The ball? Me?" She pointed at herself incredulously.

Viktor nodded eagerly, looking completely serious, his eyes filled with hope and slight apprehension.

"Yes," she blurted out. "Yes, I would like that. I mean yes — I'll go with you — Oh, Merlin," she broke off, feeling flustered. Viktor's cheeks seemed to redden, but he sighed in relief and gave her a wide smile.

"You may not believe me," he spoke quietly, "but I have been coming to the library to try and talk with you, Hermy-own." He looked rather embarrassed by his own confession.

She gaped at him.

"Me? But... why me? I mean… those girls—"

"No, no," he interrupted, looking disgruntled. "That is exactly vy. You are a wonderful girl and did not try to talk with me just for my fame, and you are very smart and kind."

She coloured, feeling pleased at his words.

"Thank you, Viktor, that's very kind of you," she said quietly, feeling slightly abashed at being complimented so nicely.

"It is the truth." Viktor approached her slowly, and taking her hand, he bent down and kissed it.

Hermione made an incoherent sound.

"Vell, I must go." He gently let go of her hand, not noticing her flaming cheeks. "But I vill see you at the ball, Hermy-own. I vill be vaiting at the entrance."

She forced herself out of her frozen shock and nodded weakly. With one last chasing smile, Viktor raised his thick brows congenially, tapped his head with his wand, and disappeared.

A few minutes later, she finally unstuck herself from where she was standing, still in mild disbelief. She hadn't planned to go to the Ball, but now that Viktor had asked her, it looked there would be a change of plans.

Hugging her knees to her chest, she sighed.

It was rather ironic how the most "sought-out" boy had asked her, in all of her bushy-haired, nerdy glory to go to the ball with him. Though she didn't care about his fame, she couldn't deny that it did feel nice that he saw her for who she was and liked her.

She smiled.

It was truly a wonderful feeling.

...

Leaning back into the headboard of her four-poster bed, Hermione smiled as Ginny's eyes grew wide when she informed her of her date to the ball.

"Hermione!" Ginny squealed with glee, causing her to laugh.

"No, but seriously," she continued, "I'm happy but it was just unexpected…"

"Oh, come on, Hermione, you've just been spending too much time around immature teenage boys," Ginny said, rolling her eyes impatiently. "Why wouldn't he ask you? I mean, you're crazy smart, brave, beautiful —"

"Oh, stop," she said sternly, feeling awkward yet grateful at the same time.

Ginny grinned as Hermione glared at her, obviously revelling in her discomfort. "I'm serious! Anyways, what kind of look are you going for?"

"Er… I haven't thought about that yet," she admitted sheepishly under Ginny's sharp gaze. "But I have a nice dress my mum sent me…"

"Show me," Ginny commanded. "As your stylist, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are the most beautiful at the ball."

Laughing, she flipped her truck open, gently pulling out the blue dress that had been folded neatly at the bottom.

Ginny gasped with delight, her eyes gazing at the dress, no doubt coming up with different ideas.

She couldn't but marvel at the beauty of the dress. The light blue fabric was soft and elegant, glimmering as the light shone on the surface. The bodice looked it would be tight but not too tight, and the neckline was a perfect cut as well.

"I don't know," she said finally, breaking the silence. "I was thinking of something fairly natural, I suppose?"

"Trust me, Hermione," Ginny said, and when she turned to face Hermione, her eyes were shining with excitement. "I think I've got the perfect look for you. You are going to look absolutely stunning!"

* * *

Draco stepped into the empty Slytherin commons after dinner, brushing a piece of tinsel off his shoulder with an annoyed growl. The school always went overboard with decorations, and though he didn't mind the Christmas holidays — after all, he did get presents — he didn't care for the festivities that came with it. He shuddered at the memory of a near-miss under an elusive mistletoe that he had almost stepped under with Crabbe and Goyle flanking his sides. He didn't want to dwell on what would have happened if he hadn't jumped out of the way soon enough.

"Drakey!" A familiar voice sang out.

He gritted his teeth and turned around to scowl at the girl who had just entered the common room.

"Pansy, how many times do I have to tell you, don't call me —"

"Drakey, I was thinking that we could color-coordinate our dress robes for the Yule Ball," she interrupted, face thoughtful. "I was thinking of something with a touch of silver? What do you think?"

"Yule Ball?" Draco stiffened, neglecting to notice that she had used her favourite nickname for him again. "I'm not going to that."

Pansy's mouth dropped open. "What do you mean you're not going? You're my date!"

He took a step back. "Since bloody when? I don't remember agreeing to that!"

"Since forever!" She shrieked indignantly. "I mean, who else would you go with? Millicent Bulstrode?"

For a moment, he genuinely considered the thought. Bulstrode was a bit too masculine for his tastes, but at least she was quiet…

"I'd rather go home, thanks," he bit out, crossing his arms.

With a disgruntled pout, she moved forward and put her hands on his shoulders.

"Come on. It's only a few hours," she whined. A mischievous spark appeared in her eyes. "Would you prefer that I write to your father, instead? I'm sure that he would disapprove of you missing out on this event."

Draco felt a stab of annoyance at her lightly-spoken words, knowing that Lucius would just make him go. His father had always been approving of Pansy. Sure, she was as pureblood as they came, but she was also bloody annoying.

"Alright, alright," he said hastily, removing himself from her grasp and straightening out his robes. He gritted his teeth, hating being manipulated against his will. "I'll go with you."

"Perfect," she chirped, a smirk on her face betraying the false look of innocence in her eyes.

"But we are not wearing matching colours," he growled, watching the smirk fall of her face with satisfaction.

* * *

A few days before the Yule Ball, Malfoy finally decided to visit the library once again. She was glad to have the distraction, even if it was Malfoy of all people, as recently Ron had asked her to the Ball as a last resort, which she denied seeing that she already had a date. He had proceeded to accuse her of lying, which led to a full-fledged fight, with her still seething from Ron's inability to believe that she could possibly have a date. On top of that mess, Christmas break had also arrived and with the excitement of the approaching Yule Ball, she had not been able to talk to Malfoy for a month as he had been frequenting the Quidditch pitch or the Slytherin commons instead of the library. He had gone to sit by the lake one more time too, and Hermione had watched him, his grey eyes focused on the clear air above the water. She wondered what he had been thinking. Her list of ideas, however, had run out very quickly, and it had been extremely aggravating just standing there watching him do completely nothing while waiting for something to happen.

As term was over, Hermione was finally free to roam about whenever she wanted. Unfortunately, Malfoy was too. Trying to find him became a lot harder than before, but she caught glimpses of his white-blond head walking towards the library and slipping away from the Gryffindor group with a half-hearted excuse, followed suit.

The last time they talked ended with her sitting at his table with him for the whole period, so Hermione had high hopes for today's encounter. As he rounded the corner of the aisle and took his usual seat at the table, she removed the Disillusionment charm and followed suit after a few minutes. He was sitting again in that relaxed position she had seen him in the first time, and she almost felt a twinge of regret as he looked up from his book and a scowl marred his features.

"What now, Granger?"

She was fishing for a smart reply when she noticed the book lying open in his lap.

"You're reading Hogwarts: A History?" She exclaimed feeling a surge of elation and disbelief that someone other than her was reading it. "That's one of my favourites!"

He scowled at her and snapped the book shut. 'Well, there's a reason why I should toss it in the trash."

She instantly deflated. Of course that someone-other-than-her had to be the rude prat, Draco Malfoy.

"You can't deny, it's a very interesting read," she said rather crossly, folding her arms.

"I'm sure you out of all people would find it so," he said dryly, but gave no further comment. Taking the lacklustre response for encouragement, she pulled the chair opposite from him out and sat down. Malfoy scowled but didn't say anything, and her heart lifted.

"So," she started. "Why aren't you going home for the holidays?"

Malfoy looked at her and glared as if he wanted nothing more than to leave.

"The Yule Ball, Granger." His scowl turned into a smirk. "Though I'm not surprised you forgot since no one's asked you."

Scumbag.

"And what makes you think that?" She asked, unable to keep the peevish tone out of her voice.

Malfoy eyed her with distaste. "Granger, that's not even a good joke."

"It's not a joke, Malfoy," she replied, feeling annoyed. Ron had made the point pretty clear and Hermione didn't want to hear it again. Clearing her throat, she spoke was as much civility as she could muster.

"I was asked."

"Oh, that's right," Malfoy drawled, his eyes lighting up. "I heard Longbottom asked you, but you turned him down. Poor choice seeing that was your only offer." He finished with a rather satisfactory smile, and Hermione tried to calm the bubbling frustration in her stomach.

She failed.

Slamming her hands down on the table, she snapped. "Oh, shut it, Malfoy! Do you always have to be such an arse? For your information, I was asked before that and I said yes!" Hermione hissed, her temper lost again. She didn't wait for his reaction as she strode angrily away from his table and out the library.

Bloody prat.

She wanted to smack him and wipe that infuriating smirk off his arrogant face, but she couldn't kill the progress that she had so tirelessly worked to achieve, which wasn't even much. For what it was worth though, she noticed that he had not yet directed any insults specifically at her when they crossed paths in the hallways… but who knew if that was even remotely related to her recent actions.

Hermione huffed in anger, but this time it was directed towards herself. She had lost control again, wasting an opportunity that would perhaps not come again for weeks.

She took a deep, calming breath and shifted her thoughts to Viktor. At least he was polite and liked her for who she was. By the time she had reached the Fat Lady and slipped into the Common room, all thoughts of Malfoy had evaporated and the only problem that nagged her was the issue of how she was going to straighten all that bushy hair for Sunday's ball.

* * *

Draco made his way down to the dungeons in low spirits. Talking to Granger had chafed at his temper and as the stone wall slid aside to reveal the empty Common room, he stepped inside and threw himself unceremoniously onto the leather divan opposite the fire.

He didn't know why that mudblood girl irked him so. Usually, seeing her annoyed was a plus, especially when he crossed words with Potter but it seeing her incensed over something so trivial bothered him. He couldn't care less, of course, but the novelty of enraging her seemed to be wearing off — it was more taxing than anything else.

Not only that, his father had sent him another flurry of letters since the last one, all varying in their construction, but with the same underlying message in each one.

He flexed his fingers. He was used to his father's overbearing control, but of late, it had been more frequent than usual.

Finally, on top of everything, Pansy was nagging him every day about the bloody Ball, and he couldn't even do anything about it but listen to her insufferable rants.

Reassuring himself that he was alone for the moment, he let out the breath he had been holding. Glowering at the fireplace, he unfolded his arms and rubbed at his temples, relieving little pressure.

"Alright there?"

He almost jumped out of his skin.

Leaping to his feet, he spotted Theo leaning by the staircase leading up to their dormitory, wearing a pair of distasteful cotton pyjamas with some kind of animal pattern on them.

"How long have you been standing there?" He growled, adjusting his robes.

"Long enough," the other replied with a frown.

Draco felt his ire spike even more. For a Slytherin, Theo was rather obvious at times. Having known each other since they were babies as their fathers had both been part of the Dark Lord's reign, he was well aware of Theo's weaker character. There was no doubt that Theo was going to report back to his father, who would then tell Lucius everything.

"I'm fine," he snapped, his fingers twitching towards his wand.

Theo's eyes followed the movement and he shut his mouth, nodding curtly before retreating back into the shadows and up the stairs.

When his footsteps finally disappeared into silence, Draco sighed heavily and dropped back down onto the couch, glad to be alone again.

* * *

On the day of the Yule Ball, the entire school was buzzing with excitement. Girls were chattering like crazy in the halls about their dresses, and the boys weren't that much better. Harry was learning to dance for the first time, Ron was horrified at the prospect of wearing his dress robes in public, and Neville was tripping over his own feet while practicing his waltz in the Common room. He finally called it a day when he ended up falling backwards into the fire, and Hermione had to Aguamenti his clothes before the whole dorm caught on fire.

"I'm hopeless!" He had wailed, while trudging up the stairs to the boys' dorms and dripping water on the steps. Hermione hadn't known what to say that wouldn't have been a complete lie.

Outside, snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid's cabin, while the Durmstrang ship's portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savoury puddings, the delicious smells of which seemed to be permeating through the entire castle.

Three hours before the Ball, she plopped down in front of Ginny on her bed, glad that Parvati and Lavender had relocated to the bathroom to do their makeup. She didn't want to be bothered with questions about her date for three hours straight. Hermione knew the basics about makeup but not enough, so she let Ginny take over. The redhead worked in silence, brow furrowing as she worked, shadowing her eyelids, lining her eyes, and tickled her face with makeup brushes.

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione mumbled, as Ginny went behind her and started brushing through her hair. She was extremely grateful for the younger girl's kindness and knew that she would have been a grand mess if Ginny hadn't taken matters into her own hands.

"It's really no problem," Ginny said matter-of-factly, "it's an honour for me to make you look as beautiful as you can," she teased. The bed creaked and shifted as Ginny grabbed something from the dresser.

"Senderling's Smoothing Gel — for all hair types from wizard to werewolf," the younger witch read aloud. "Hm… I wonder what charms it uses."

Hermione sighed. "With hair like mine, I'll need more than one."

An hour later, Ginny let out a whoop of joy and appeared in front of Hermione, who was sitting on the edge of the four-poster, dozing off.

Finally, she thought as she peeled her eyes open and stretched out her arms. Her back was stiff: she could only imagine how sore Ginny's arms were.

"Are you ready to see how amazing you look?" Ginny wiggled her eyebrows and after Hermione nodded with slight nervousness and anticipation, she held up a large mirror to her face.

All traces of drowsiness left her body.

Hermione gaped at her reflection in the mirror. The change was remarkable. Her eyes were shaded beautifully, the lashes curled up around her eyes, framing them and making them look more feminine. Her face looked more defined and rosier than usual, and her lips were slightly glossy.

The change was natural, but at the same time, dramatic. Her bushy hair was an even bigger miracle: It had been completely transformed. Her mane of hair was now sleek and glossy, and had been softly twisted into an elegant undo, loose enough for curlicues of hair to naturally frame her face.

"Ginny, you are a miracle worker," she said incredulously. "It's exactly what I wanted."

The redhead folded her arms professionally and gave her a satisfied once-over.

"Viktor's going to be stunned…not to mention my prat of a brother…"

Hermione rolled her eyes but grinned.

"Now, go and put on the dress," Ginny said, eyes glinting with excitement.

* * *

Draco rolled his eyes for what seemed like the tenth time in a row.

All of the students were congregated in the Great Hall which was decorated quite lavishly, to his surprise. Still, balls and other social gatherings at the manor had been common, thus, his boredom was hitting the extremes.

It didn't help that Pansy was chattering away, apparently oblivious to the fact that he wasn't listening.

"— told you that we should have worn the same colours!" She whined, nudging his arm. "Look at Miles and Daphne! Don't they look great together?"

She continued talking, and he glared at a second-year Hufflepuff who had accidentally bumped into him, causing him to scramble away.

They were standing at the very front of the two crowds that had parted in the middle, creating a path up to the Great Hall doors that were currently closed. Soon, the champions would be entering with their partners, and he would be lying if the prospect if seeing Potter dance with a girl wasn't the highlight of his night.

"… want to see what the mudblood's going to look like," Pansy was saying, peering into the crowds. "She's not even here, is she? I'm not surprised… no doubt hiding her face in a book because no one asked her."

Draco had to refrain from reminding her that he had not asked her either. And then what she said fully sank in. Granger wasn't here? Wasn't she adamant that she had a date? He smirked. How shameless.

His train of thought was cut short by a familiar voice.

"Oi! Draco! Pansy!"

Both of them turned to see Theo and Blaise making their way through the crowds, wearing identical black dress robes.

"See? Look!" Pansy whined. "Even they color-coordinated! And they're not even a couple!"

Draco opened his mouth to angrily refute that statement but was cut off by Theo.

"Have you seen Weasley?" He asked, eyes wide. "He's actually wearing those musty dress robes! I can't believe it…"

At that, Draco couldn't help but smirk. That was a sight he wanted to see. As Pansy and Theo chattered away about some nonsense, his eyes met Blaise's.

Draco had never liked the dark boy as much as the others — if he could even use the word "like". More accurately, out of all of them, perhaps it was Blaise that he trusted the least. There was something in his eyes that was too defiant for his liking, but feeling secure in his Malfoy-granted leadership, dismissed the feeling and tilted his heads towards him in greeting.

Blaise bowed his head in return and the two of them stood side by side in silence as snippets of conversation floated towards them.

"—so ridiculous. I mean honestly, he's the absolute worst," Pansy was saying to Theo, who nodded in agreement. "Last time, he even tried to talk to me, I mean the audacity…"

Draco's mouth thinned with displeasure.

It was going to be a long night…

* * *

As Hermione stepped out of the Portrait, she eyed the empty corridors nervously. The champions and their dates were to enter the Great Hall after everyone else did, but she still felt a bit uneasy as she made her way down the stairs, her high heels clicking on the smooth stone ground. Hermione had almost had a full-fledged panic attack after realizing the only shoes she had side from her leather school shoes were her Muggle Converse's. Ginny had saved the day, once again, lending her a pair of beautiful stilettos that Hermione had Transfigured to reflect the light like diamonds. The pale blue skirt of her dress swished around her legs as she walked, the fabric moving around her legs as if it was water woven into silk and tulle.

Like Cinderella's dress, she thought suddenly, before reprimanding herself for being so childish. Shaking her head, she spotted the three couples waiting outside the massive oaken doors of the Great Hall, with Viktor trailing at the back, his eyebrows furrowed. At the sound of her heels, he looked up quickly, and she watched with shy amusement as his eyebrows relaxed and his eyes widened.

"H-Hermy-own," Viktor cleared his throat. "You…you look extremely vunderful!"

Hermione walked up to him and admired his sweeping Bulgarian-style robes that emphasized the broadness of his figure and the unique confidence that he seemed to exude. She smiled gently at him, feeling flustered by his reaction.

"You look very handsome, too," she said, but just as Viktor opened his mouth to speak, a familiar voice cut in.

"Wow, Hermione… You look amazing!"

A laugh escaped her lips at Harry's awestruck face, who had been standing at the front and just spotted her. She couldn't help but notice that his black robes looked much better than Ron's.

"Always the tone of surprise," she teased, smiling shyly as Parvati turned around to see what the commotion was and had the same reaction. Hermione, Fleur, Cho, and Parvati quickly exchanged compliments — they did look very stunning — and she smiled at Cedric Diggory and Roger Davies who both gave her a friendly nod, before turning back to Viktor, who still seemed to be at loss for words.

"You are too…dazzling. I will make you look bad. I must leave before everyone sees you with me," he joked, turning away as if he was about to make a run for it. Hermione laughed at his grumpy expression and playfully tugged on his arm to hold him back. Their antics were interrupted by a thickly-accented voice.

"Mon dieu! Ze doors are opening!" Flour whispered excitedly in front of Hermione and Viktor, clutching onto Roger's arm. Hermione felt a sudden jolt in her stomach as sure enough, the grand double doors in front of them began to creak open.

"Don't be nervous," Viktor whispered. "You are the most beautiful one of them all."

Hermione looked up gratefully at Viktor — though not as much as before thanks to Ginny's three-inch heels — and felt her nerves calm down slightly. He held out his arm.

"Shall ve?"

And then the four couples walked into the sparkling light of the Great Hall through the great wooden doors.

Applause surrounded them on both sides as the four couples entered the Great Hall. This time, Hermione was confident that the Hogwarts Decorating Committee had truly, truly outdone themselves. The Great Hall was unrecognizable. As if sparkling glass had been crushed into powder and thrown all around the room, the walls were glowing and sparkling, making the Great Hall look even bigger than it was like a room of mirrors. Silky silver sashes and curtains were draped from top to bottom and decorative banners hung from the vast ceiling. The enchanted ceiling had even been made to snow; tiny white sparkles softly landing on skirts and shoulders, giving the whole room a heaven-like quality.

She was pulled from her awe when the applauding students came into view. Gasps erupted from the crowd as their eyes landed on her and Viktor. She clutched tighter at Viktor's arm as a familiar crimson heat flooded her cheeks. Everyone seemed to be looking at them, and not the kind of staring she was familiar with when walking with Harry.

"Is that Hermione Granger?" She heard voices whisper hurriedly.

"Hermione Granger?"

"No way!"

"Oh my God! With Viktor Krum?"

Hermione looked to the direction of the familiar voice as the four couples walked through the pathway that the students had made and saw Padma Patil with her mouth hanging open next to a very grumpy and shocked looking Ron.

"N-no. It can't be…" Hermione heard him hiss back over the ear-shattering applause, and did her best not to roll her eyes. Tonight, she vowed to herself that she was just going to relax and enjoy Viktor's company. Absolutely no thoughts of infuriating boys, especially ones with grey eyes and pale-blonde hair.

Right after she had that reassuring thought, her gaze swept over the right half of the crowd, and a chill went down her spine when her brown eyes locked with grey ones.

Speak of the Devil.

Malfoy was staring at her with that same intense stare, eyes swirling with something she couldn't really decipher. Shock? She supposed she did look rather different, but at least he had recognized her. Feeling a rush of confidence, Hermione arched her eyebrow and flashed him a smile.

His lip curled.

Laughing at his irritated look and Pansy Parkinson's absolutely outraged expression, she looked to the front and continued walking, feeling happier than ever.

The four couples reached the centre of the floor, stationed equal distances apart, and when McGonagall announced the start of the dance, the clapping and whispers silenced and the music began to play.

Viktor snaked his arm around her slender waist and took hold of her hand with his free one. She placed her hand on his shoulder and let him lead the dance. Much to her surprise, Viktor was a graceful dancer, twirling her in his steady grasp and moving smoothly through the other couples on the floor. His robes flowed out behind him and they entwined with her flowing skirts as they danced. Viktor beamed at her and Hermione couldn't help but let out a laugh as he lifted her off the ground and spun her in the air. She had long forgotten about the jealous glares that were aimed at them. Glancing at Harry, she laughed again as she watched him and Parvati stumble across the floor, his face contorted in a pained expression, mouthing the word "Help!", whenever Parvati was looking the other direction. After one last twirl, the dance concluded, and Vikor led her off the dance floor to the side as other couples began to move their way to the centre.

"You're a very good dancer," Hermione said, grinning. She was slightly out of breath and reached up to make sure that her hair wasn't out of place.

"Vell…vot is the saying," Viktor looked thoughtful before flashing her a grin, "— ah yes, it takes two to tango, does it not?"

Hermione laughed again as he chuckled sheepishly. Reaching forward and gently brushing a stray curl out of her face, she instantly clammed up. She could never get used to his forwardness.

"I vill go get us some drinks."

Left alone, she walked around aimlessly before seeing Harry and Ron sitting alone at another table near the back of the Hall.

With a sigh, she dropped down into the seat next to Harry — furthest away from Ron — and fanned her face with a casual flutter of her hand.

"It's hot, isn't it? Viktor's just gone to get some drinks." Hermione had directed this at Harry but Ron gave her a withering look from across the table.

"Viktor?" Ron sneered, his voice oozing with contempt. "Hasn't he asked you to call him Vicky yet?"

Hermione looked at him with distaste, something she figured she had picked up from Malfoy.

"What's up with you?" She said, quite confused, not to mention annoyed. They had not had an actual conversation in weeks, but the intense venom in his tone made her think that there was something more to it.

"If you don't know," Ron said scathingly, "I'm not going to tell you."

Hermione stared at him, then at Harry, who shrugged.

"Ron, what —?"

"He's from Durmstrang!" Ron spat suddenly. "He's competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You — you're —" He was obviously casting around for words strong enough to describe her crime. "— You're fraternizing with the enemy, that's what you're doing!"

Hermione's mouth fell open.

"Don't be stupid!" She snapped after a moment. "The enemy? Honestly, Ronald…who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who's got a model of him up in their dormitory?"

Ron's cheeks flushed a blotchy red, but he ignored her comment. "I s'pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?"

"Yes, he did," she said delicately. "If you must know, he said he'd been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn't been able to pluck up the courage!"

"Yeah, well — that's his story," Ron said nastily.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" She was feeling rather nasty herself at this point, as if she had eaten something rotten.

"Obvious, isn't it? He's Karkaroff's student, isn't he? He knows who you hang around with…He's just trying to get closer to Harry — get inside information on him — or get near enough to jinx him —"

Hermione felt like she had just been slapped. She couldn't believe what angered her more — the idea that she would betray Harry or the insinuation that the only reason for a guy like Krum to get close to her was to use her. When she spoke, her voice quivered.

"For your information, Ronald, he hasn't asked me one single thing about Harry, not one," Hermione locked eyes with Ron, ignoring the slight shock on his face. She was shaking with anger, her chest heaving.

"If you don't believe me then I can't change your mind, but you should know that the way you are acting right now is extremely childish and immature. It's no wonder Padma left you as soon as she had the chance!"

She hissed the last bit with as much venom as she could and before he could do anything but stutter, Hermione leapt to her feet and ran as fast as she could in Ginny's bloody high heels back to the table where Krum had left her.

"Bloody git!" Hermione whispered through gritted teeth. Leave it to Ron to make her feel worthless when only seconds ago, she was feeling the exact opposite. She knew that she shouldn't take Ron's accusations to heart, but it still hurt to hear those words coming out of her supposed best friend. Feeling the insides of her eyes prickle with tears, she desperately tried to hold them back, not wanting to be seen in tears once Viktor came back.

"If you're talking about Weasel, well that's one thing that we can both agree on." A very familiar drawl sent a shockwave through Hermione but she did not look up. She feared that one sneer from Malfoy would be the thing that tipped her over the edge and the last thing she wanted was for him to see her bawl her eyes out. Could this night get any worse? Ron had opened the wounds, and now Malfoy was here, about to rub salt into them.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she said, quietly, all the fight suddenly leaving her body. She stared down at her glittering heels, not wanting Malfoy to see the tears in her eyes. "I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now."

"Weasley make you angry?" He scoffed. "Not surprised…he couldn't charm a girl to save his life."

He had, of course, disregarded her request to be left alone, but it was oddly comforting to hear the insult directed at Ron.

"For once, Malfoy, that is something I can't refute," she huffed, feeling extremely annoyed again. "I mean, he can just be so incredibly dense sometimes!"

"That's what I've been saying for years."

She barely heard him as she barrelled on, suddenly feeling vicious. "He's absolutely infuriating!"

"That he is."

"Honestly…he's such a hypocrite, too!"

"Is and always will be."

She threw her hands up in the air. "As if he wasn't the one ogling Viktor only a few days ago! At least Viktor is a gentleman…"

She heard Malfoy scoff. "Krum, eh? I have to say, that was a surprise."

"I suppose it must be to you," she said rather nastily, remembering who she was talking to, "that Viktor — unlike a certain arrogant prat — sees me for who I am, not just my blood status. Can you imagine?" She looked up at him before she could stop herself, wanting to gauge his reaction, and saw a flash of annoyance in his eyes before they locked with hers.

This time, a clear look of surprise flitted over his pale face.

Damn it. He had no doubt seen the tears in her eyes, but before either of them could say anything, a voice broke through.

"Hermy-own!"

Hermione sighed with relief. Blinking quickly and forcing the tears back in her eyes, she avoided Malfoy's piercing gaze as Viktor's smiling face came into view. She smiled back warmly as he handed her a champagne glass and placed a hand gently around her waist.

"Sorry, I took so long. My friends ver…asking about you, and I could not get away." Viktor grumbled, his cheeks reddening. "Anyvay, vud you like to dance again? He stiffened as his eyes left her face and landed on Malfoy. Viktor seemed to notice him just now, standing with a scowl on his face on the opposite side of the round. Taking a small sip of her frothy beverage and avoiding Malfoy's gaze, she watched the thick brows on Viktor's face knit together, giving him a rather frightening appearance. Sensing possible conflict, she quickly set the pink drink down, taking Viktor's hand and his attention returned to her.

"Of course. Let's go."

Nodding, he led her away from the table to the dance floor, and Hermione cast a quick backwards glance at Malfoy, confused at the exchange between him and Viktor. She was surprised to see him glaring into the distance with an indecipherable expression on his face.

"I do not like that boy," Viktor grumbled again, bringing her attention back to him. They were wedged between couples now, and Malfoy's face had disappeared from view.

"Trust me, you're not alone," she said, rolling her eyes, but what Viktor said next caught her off guard.

"I do not like the vay he looks at you," he growled, a fierce expression on his face. He shook his head. "I have caught him vatching you on more than vun occasion."

Hermione inwardly frowned.

"I'm sure he's just trying to come up with more insults," she joked.

Viktor did not look appeased.

"Come on," she said, putting away all thoughts of the blond prat. An upbeat song but the Weird Sisters had come on and colourful, flashing lights were now illuminating the crowded dance floor. She held out a hand to Viktor.

"Let's dance!"

And they twirled away for the rest of the night under the starry ceiling of the Great Hall.

* * *

Draco scowled as the Bulgarian Quidditch player led Granger away and disappeared onto the dance floor. The night could hardly get any worse. Pansy had made a fuss when he refused to dance with her and she had positively screeched her indignation when the champions had entered with their dates.

Granger.

He clenched his jaw. Ever since she had made her appearance with Krum, it was bothering him how a mudblood could look so…pure.

He immediately revoked the thought, feeling increasingly revolted at himself.

Outlier, he repeated stubbornly in his head.

There was bound to be someone in the generations who defied the status quo and having less than desirable blood didn't mean it was always reflected on the outside. The thought reassured him, but still…something about the gasps and whispers had annoyed him even more. He couldn't understand why people were acting as if she was a different person. After all, underneath it all she was still a mudblood.

Call him anything, but fickle he wasn't.

Then again, Krum had been the real shock. Draco had lost some of his respect for the talented Quidditch player. He was from Durmstrang, for Merlin's sake, and he still dared to make a mudblood his date. More than that, Draco had been surprised that Granger had even accepted. He hadn't expected her to like the thick-headed types.

Then again, the Weasel certainly fell into that category.

Draco had been trying to escape from Pansy's clutches when he overheard the Weasel's ridiculous accusations about Granger and Krum…He didn't know whether to feel irritated or amused. Leave it to Weasley to not be able to recognize his own petty jealousies. He rolled his eyes at the redhead but his smirk faltered upon remembering what had happened after.

The girl…

Damn her and her blood status proclamations, but he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable when he had seen her eyes glistening. She was always so obvious with her emotions…it was unnerving.

Not to mention bothersome.

He grimaced with irritation.

Ever since he had given Granger the bloody book that day in the library, he had faced more trouble than usual, and now she was even occupying her thoughts for longer than it took to think of the word "mudblood".

That wouldn't do.

Resolute determination coursed through him as he downed the glass in his hand. Turning on his heel, he strode through the doors of the Great Hall, the sounds of laughter and music disappearing behind him as he marched through the dark corridors in a flurry of robes.

No… he wouldn't tolerate this any longer.


	6. One Step Closer

CHAPTER SIX

**One Step Closer**

The rest of December passed by without many problems. Hermione and Ron had come to a silent agreement for Harry's sake, though they were still avoiding lengthy interactions. Harry was also taking the golden egg more seriously but had retreated into a moody silence that Hermione could understand. The second task felt much closer on this side of Christmas.

As the new term began in January, Hermione was happy to slip into her usual routine once more. She met with Viktor every now and then in the library; his fan club had disappeared ever since she taught him the Disillusionment Charm. She was grateful for his company since Harry was occupied with his task and Ron was — well, being Ron. She liked Ginny's company, but they only really saw each other at mealtimes and bedtimes—both of which she sometimes showed up late too if she was in the library.

After a few conversations, Hermione had grown use to Viktor's frank speech and grown quite comfortable in his company. She often told Viktor about her struggles and he gave keen advice in return. This was something she had never experienced with Ron and Harry as she was usually the one doing the rational thinking. His three years older also proved to be helpful and new — after all, Fred and George sadly were not the best role models. Viktor had also taught her a few Bulgarian words, and his English also improved drastically, even beginning to pronounce her name correctly.

"You should visit Bulgaria this summer," he offered as they sat at her usual spot in the library, watching the snow fall outside. "The veather is very nice then."

Hermione's eyes lit up at the thought. After hearing about Bulgaria's rich culture and the ancient architecture and magical buildings, she desperately wanted to visit. "I would love to!" Harry's face then flashed through her mind. "— but… I'm sorry… I don't think I can anytime soon. With the way things are at the moment, I have to be with him through everything — you know how he's a danger magnet and everything…"

Viktor looked slightly disappointed, but then he grinned as if he had been expecting it, nudging her knee affectionately. "You are very loyal and brave, Hermy-own. It is very admirable. No vorries. There vill be a time in the future."

Hermione sighed regretfully, glad that he understood. "Thanks, Viktor."

Perhaps one day, she would visit…

...

A week into January, things were beginning to pick up storm again. Hagrid's half-giant background had been exposed in a slanderous article by the one and only, Rita Skeeter, and while Professor Grubbly-Plank was teaching, Malfoy had proudly showed off said article that featured a quote from him. Feeling rather disappointed that he had done so, Hermione also noticed that since the Yule Ball, he had been colder than usual — yes, apparently it was possible — and had spent all of his free periods in the Slytherin Common room.

Harry was practically seething by the time they got out of class. As they walked across the courtyard, Ron making pointless chatter in hopes of cheering all of them up, a familiar voice called out to them.

"Hey, Potter! Is your half-giant friend hiding? Too ashamed to show his face now that the secret's finally out?"

Her heart jumping in her chest, Hermione turned to see the object of her thoughts approaching them with Crabbe and Goyle flanking his sides. On his face was his usual haughty smirk as Ron and Harry glared daggers at him.

"Back off, Malfoy," Ron spat, balling his fists, but the blond paid him no heed.

He stopped inches away from Harry.

"You'll regret this, Malfoy," Harry spat out angrily, his face pink.

"Looking forward to that day," Malfoy replied sarcastically with an absolutely infuriating smirk. "Maybe you'll actually learn how to use your wand by then."

Crabbe and Goyle both snickered while Ron made a deep growling sound at the back of his throat, his hand balling into a fist which only seemed to please Malfoy more.

"Leave it, Ron," she whispered urgently, resting a hand on Ron's arm in attempts to calm him down.

If Malfoy heard her, he showed no sign. Without even bothering to glare at her or glance her way, he shot one last smug look at Harry and turned on his heel, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after him.

"One day…" Ron spat, shaking his head. "One day, I swear I'll get him."

"Just ignore him, Ron," she exhaled. "He's just trying to egg you two on, can't you see?"

And clearly it's working, she thought, but decided to keep that to herself. There was something more important on her mind.

As they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room, the boys taking turns muttering colourful insults, their recent encounter played over and over again in her head, and something became clear.

It didn't seem like Malfoy was trying to be more civil to her…. he seemed to be trying to ignore her very existence.

But why? She racked her mind for something that stood out, something that she had said that could have possibly incensed him, but couldn't think of anything out of the ordinary that had occurred. Palming her forehead in frustration, a part of her wished that she had never taken on the task, for Malfoy was confusing her in ways she had never thought possible.

...

Halfway through January, there was a Hogsmeade visit but that did nothing to soothe their tense nerves. Instead of finding Hagrid who had gone into hiding since the publication of the article, they had run into Ludo Bagman, who had then not-so-subtlely tried to entice Harry into accepting his 'help', much to Hermione's disapproval. There was definitely more underneath that baby-faced demeanour than he let on. Not long after, Rita Skeeter herself had entered the scene, and the meeting ended disastrously, with Ron stating (rather unnecessarily, Hermione thought that Hermione would be next on Skeeter's "list". She couldn't help it. How dare that sneaky woman try to write more nonsense after ruining Hagrid's life!

They had confronted Hagrid at his cabin afterwards, and found Dumbledore there, refusing to accept his resignation letter.

On his way out of the cabin, Dumbledore spotted her.

"How are you doing, Miss Granger?" He asked in a low voice as Harry and Ron were engrossed in Hagrid telling them about his father. She had a hunch that he was not asking her about her well-being.

"I've made progress, surprisingly… but there's still much to do." She said slowly, after a minute of contemplation. That was one way to put it. If only she could somehow get Malfoy alone to talk to him.

The old wizard nodded and looked at her with content. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "A show of friendship is much more powerful than you may think, Miss Granger. Just as you have been accepting of Hagrid, you must remember to treat those who may seem undeserving the same way. Acceptance, my dear, for that is the only way we can move forward." And on that enigmatic note, Dumbledore bid her farewell and swept out of the cabin.

A show of friendship?

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. That certainly did nothing to resolve her confusion, but it at least gave her something to focus on.

Good news always seemed to be followed to a certain extent by bad news. The good news was that Harry finally managed to decipher the code of the mysterious golden egg. The bad news was that he did so two weeks before the second task. He now had to find a way to breathe underwater for a solid hour, and both Ron and Hermione were enlisted to help. Harry and Ron accompanied her to the library and spent every free hour of the day trying to find a way for Harry to breathe underwater. It felt like they had looked through dozens of books each, but to no avail.

There has to be some kind of charm or spell that allows you to breathe underwater. Hermione racked through her brain, trying to remember if she had read about a spell like that anymore, but came up empty-handed. Hermione huffed in annoyance but was determined. The library had never failed her in the past, and it wouldn't now. Not when she was in dire need, for not only did Hermione have to deal with Harry's impending crisis, she also needed to talk to Malfoy.

The day before the second task, Hermione watched from her usual spot on Wednesdays outside his Charms class, hoping that this time, Malfoy would make a trip to the library. She was not disappointed.

Following him inside the library, Hermione watched him take out a few rolls of parchment and sit down in his usual seat, his face set in his usual stony expression. This time however, Hermione was almost desperate, and she didn't have the energy to scheme a sneaky conversation. Releasing the spell over herself, she walked out of the aisles into plain sight and plopped down in the free chair opposite of Malfoy with a heavy sigh.

Malfoy instantly raised his head.

"What do you want?" He snarled.

Memories of his hostility came to mind, but she didn't have enough brainpower to dwell on that at the moment, so she decided to push his odd behaviour since the Yule Ball to the back of her mind.

"Nothing," she mumbled honestly, leaning back in the chair and gazing helplessly through the open window. Her eyes glazed over as she watched a leaf drift through one of the Quidditch hoops.

"Then leave," Malfoy hissed. She turned her head to face him, her eyes dull, and he stare back, his lip curling. He had been ignoring her and now he was looking her with an icy look colder than the snowy weather outside.

"What are you working on?" Hermione asked quietly, at least trying to attempt to have a decent conversation with him before she retreated. Homework was always a safe topic.

"Herbology," He waved at her dismissively but didn't shift his gaze away from her face.

Hermione suddenly stood up as if someone had poured cold water on her head. How could she have missed it? She had been so focused on finding the right charm that she had completely forgotten about magical plants!

"Malfoy." She glanced down at him, his face torn between a curious stare and a glare. "I take it back," she said excitedly, feeling herself being filled with purpose again. "You're amazing, thank you!"

"What—"

But Hermione had already leapt from her chair and darted out of sight. Practically leaping to the reference section, she walked straight to the Herbology shelf and selected five books that all related to magical plants and how they could be specifically used for certain purposes.

Grunting from all the weight, she trudged back to Malfoy's table and dropped the books with a thud on the table, heaving a breathless sigh.

Malfoy eyed her with a wary expression and glanced at the books she had put down.

"Are you planning on staying here to read all of those?" He asked, trying to glare but genuinely looking confused. "What the hell is going on with you?"

I could ask you the same thing.

She raised a tired eyebrow at him. "Yes. You just reminded me of something I had completely overlooked, so I'm reading here to express my thanks."

"Spare me," Malfoy spat, the venom back in his voice. "If you really want to thank me, go sit somewhere else."

Hermione pursed her lips and sat down, setting the books to one side. As much as she wanted to dive into them as soon as possible, she didn't have many encounters with Malfoy these days and she wanted to make the most of it.

"Malfoy," she started quietly, not wanting to anger him. "Do you honestly believe that I'm going to dirty or taint you somehow? Really, have you at least tried looking for your own answers?"

Malfoy sneered. "I have the answers, and not only that, but you're simply unwanted company."

"That's because you're only looking at my blood status," she argued. "Can't you focus on a person's character instead and not who or what their parents are?"

"Blood purity is far more important than character," Malfoy said darkly. "Which happens to work in your favour actually," he added, smirking to himself.

Hermione ignored the dig.

"But say you met someone without knowing of their blood status first," she pressed. Malfoy looked back down at his parchment, looking as if he was imagining something quite unimaginable. "What if you conversed with them and found that you liked their personality? How would that initial impression change even if you found that they were Muggle-born?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "This is an utter waste of my time, so if you —"

"None of that stuff is going to matter when you're dead and buried six feet under, Malfoy!" She burst out, incredulous. "No one is going to remember you just for your blood purity. They're not going to be at your funeral discussing how unfortunate it was that you were dead because your blood was so pure."

He glowered at her. "I am very much alive, Granger. And I don't give a damn what people will say about me when I'm gone."

She locked eyes with him, determined to find the truth. Malfoy's face was set into a stony, indifferent expression, but there was something… something flickering in his grey eyes that urged her on.

"Fine," she huffed out. "Let's not go into the details anymore, but are you just going to live your life judging whether or not people are worthy enough to be in your presence by their heritage?" she questioned, feeling bitter. "Don't you want people to know you? To know who you are and not just what you are?"

A muscle twitched in his neck before he pulled his lips back into a thin line. He seemed to let her words sink in before picking up his quill and looking down again.

"I don't care."

Those three simple words made Hermione's heart sink and shatter. She felt her throat tighten and her stomach clench uncomfortably. She had said all she could, and he still didn't relent. Why didn't he see that character was so much more important than anything else? Why didn't he care about anyone wanting to know the true him? How could Malfoy live by only considering one's blood purity? How could he live knowing that the people around him like Crabbe and Goyle and Pansy only saw his worth from his last name and blood status?

Shaking her head, she sighed quietly.

"I care."

Malfoy's hand stopped writing, and his shoulders tensed visibly. He didn't look at her and instead frowned at his parchment instead, as if something extremely vulgar was written there.

"Granger, I'm sure that you'd love to be remembered for your Gryffindor courage and your —"

"I'm talking about you, Malfoy," she interrupted, hopefully making herself clear. She did care; maybe not on a personal level, but she had realized how important this was. Frankly, it was sad to her that he felt that anything other than blood purity wasn't important and Dumbledore had helped her to see that people like Malfoy needed someone to care. Needed someone to show them another way before they could change. So at least they could have the choice to change.

Malfoy looked up at her and gave her a murderous stare. "Stop it, Granger. Just stop it. I can see it in your eyes. Don't give me that bloody pitiful look. I don't want it, and there is no reason for you to care." He spat out the last word as if it was a dirty swear word.

"I'm not pitying you," she lied, not knowing what else to say.

"Yes, you are!" He raised his voice. "Don't deny it!"

"Deny?" She repeated, raising her voice as well. "Then you stop denying! You're so adamant on holding onto the beliefs you were raised with, but why can't you muster up some courage and question what you were made to believe? You're not stupid Malfoy! If you took one look at —"

"Stop it!" Malfoy yelled furiously, slamming the table with his fist. "There's nothing to question! I'm a pureblood and you're a mudblood. That's the way it is. That's all that matters."

Hermione didn't flinch. She knew she was right. Under his rage, she could hear the desperation in his voice. His beliefs were all he knew, and it must be rather terrifying to think that something he had built everything on was so close to being shattered. If she showed him something different that made sense, everything he had ever built around the idea would shatter into unfixable pieces. He would be lost.

Taking a few deep breaths, she calmed down and formulated her next words carefully.

"No, Malfoy, it doesn't have to be like that. Just give it a chance and think about it." She paused and went out on a whim. "Malfoy, do you love your mother?"

His lip curled and his eye twitched, but he continued looking out the window.

"I love my mother," Hermione continued softly with a smile on her face. "The way she smiles at me when she's proud or hugs me when I'm upset… the little things, that make her—well, my mother, and the greater things like her selflessness when it comes to me… She's a Muggle, but I think the relationship between us and our mothers are all the same, regardless of what we are."

Malfoy still didn't reply. His eyes were focused somewhere outside the window, his expression neutral, but she could see the swirl of emotion in his stormy eyes. He was listening.

After an eternity of silence, Hermione sighed quietly and decided to leave it there for today. She had exhausted all her methods and cranked out the last of her sentimental speeches, but Malfoy still didn't seem to be cracking. However, they seemed to have met at a point on which they could both agree.

Since her time was almost up, she slid the books back into her arms, and reached over to grab the last book on the table when Malfoy's hand came slamming down on the cover. He stared at her with a hard, unreadable expression on his face, but for a split second, for the first time, Hermione saw that his eyes held something soft and faraway in them.

"I know," he said simply, and the two words made her heart lurch.

The next moment, he had taken his hand off the book and picked up his quill, his face settling back into his usual tight expression and didn't speak another word.

But Hermione had heard enough. He knew what she was talking about and had admitted to it. Burning the memory of his soft expression into the back of her mind, she marvelled momentarily at how he was able to look so…. gentle. He seemed to genuinely care for his mother, and that was all that mattered. She had taken a step towards understanding him, and he had taken the same step towards her.

Only a million more steps to go.

* * *

After she left, Draco sat like a statue in his spot, his mind whirling. As the minutes ticked by, he felt more and more annoyed as reality sank in. He should have known better than to try and ignore her; Granger was bloody persistent and her incessant ravings were frustrating in general, but still, his whole body felt numb with something he couldn't really describe.

That bothered him.

He hated being confused or unsure, and the fact alone that her words had wreaked havoc in his usually regulated mind was enough to make him feel ill. No, he had not been moved, he told himself firmly, but her comments had unnerved him.

No one had ever said such sentimental drivel to him in his life. His lip curled at the idea of living a life where blood purity was not of significance, but the mere thought was ludicrous. Yet, he could not deny the truth; Narcissa had never been an overly affectionate woman, but she cared about him and provided for him in ways that his father could not. And if that was true, then it was undoubtedly a common similarity, regardless of blood.

His chest tightened.

Regardless of blood.

The phrase felt foreign in his mind and seemed like something bad waiting to happen. There was no room for doubt. Never doubt. But for the first time, he couldn't ignore the niggling feeling of unease.

* * *

"You _what_?" Harry and Ron exclaimed incredulously at the same time.

"I think I found the answer!" Hermione repeated, still slightly out of breath.

They were standing in the empty common room, having met as Hermione came running back from the library.

Both boys froze and looked at her in anticipation. They grabbed all the books she dropped and huddled around the table in the common room.

"Plants," she explained, pointing to one of the books. "We completely overlooked them while thinking of charms! They have all sorts of magical effects and are used in tons of potions. I'm sure there's something that will help Harry breathe underwater." Ron looked skeptical, but Harry had heard enough. He immediately grabbed the nearest book and began pouring through its contents.

"What made you think of plants?" Ron asked, grabbing a book for himself.

Hermione held her breath, realizing she couldn't exactly say Malfoy had given her the hint, even if he had done so subconsciously.

"I saw a book briefly referencing them," she lied quickly. "Come on—we have a lot to go through still."

The redhead mumbled but started reading through his book. Hermione turned back to her own text, speeding through the information on plant life cycles. Call it an internal hunch, but she was sure the answer was close.

A half an hour in, most of the Gryffindors were coming back from dinner. The common room began to fill up again, and Harry and Ron were starting to lose focus.

"You know, wouldn't Neville know more about this stuff?" Harry asked.

Hermione didn't look up from her book. Ron answered instead.

"I reckon—he's the only one who get excited over each class. Is he back yet?"

A few moments later, Neville walked through the portrait door, looking a bit flustered. Harry called him over to their table.

"Hi Harry," he smiled, peaking over at their books. "Are you guys researching on Herbology?"

"Actually—" he hesitated. Hermione could tell that he was considering how much to tell him. "Well, do you happen to know of any plants that can help you breathe underwater?"

Neville's face lit up. "Sure, there are lots of them. Which one do you want to hear about?"

All three of their faces rose immediately. Hermione glanced between Harry and Ron, both boys looking more alert than ever.

"Everything you can!" Harry said with urgency.

"Er—well all right, then." Neville looked a little surprised at their eagerness. "There's the, uhm, pessywhirl, which is a plant native to Romania, it creates little bubbles in your lungs that can help you breathe underwater, but you have to be careful not to take its brother, the pertlywhirl because it's poisonous. And there's a purple flower called wichens, if you mix them up with grebus herb, it blocks your nose and throat but creates an air supply so you can still go about without the need to breath. The monfre shrub is also a good one, it's extremely rare though—comes from the highest mountains of Russia—"

"Neville," Hermione interrupted. "You're doing great, but to make it easier, it might be better for us to tell you what exactly we're looking for so you don't have to go through every plant you know of—and well all know that you can—"Neville grew slightly pink and nodded. "We need something that's pretty common, we can't go hiking mountains or searching caves unfortunately. Also, the effect needs to last long, preferably an hour or more."

Neville's face scrunched up in concentration. "Then… something like… Gillyweed?"

All three of them looked at each other, none of them recognizing the name.

"Er… What exactly does it do?" Harry asked.

"Actually, I read about it in the book Professor Moody gave me," he began. "It turns you into a fish—" Harry took a sharp breath. "—Er, not fully! It gives you gills and webbed feet, so naturally, you'll be able to breathe under water as well."

Hermione looked at Harry again, her eyes filling with hope.

"There's some gillyweed stored in the greenhouse, and I think the effect lasts about an hour." Neville finished, looking uncertain.

"Neville, that's perfect—"

"You're bloody amazing—"

"It could work! Brilliant—"

All three of them stood from their chairs, smiling at Neville. The poor boy seemed overwhelmed.

"Er—all right," he gave them a shy smile. "Glad I could help."

"We're going now—" Harry declared.

Leaving all the books behind, the trio dashed out of the common room. Harry said thanks again, Ron patted his back, and Hermione flashed Neville a smile. The boy was going places.

They dashed down seven flights of stairs and leaped through the open archways of the castle, navigating to the greenhouse on the grounds. Harry seemed to hold his breath as he ran down, his eyes blazing with hope.

After reaching the Herbology greenhouse, they searched through the numerous counts of plants, herbs, weeds and shrubs. Hermione yanked her hand back from the snapping plant that looked especially vicious, and avoided the others that were making strange noises or moving their arms around in an attempt to try and grab them. Harry was the first to call 'I found it!' leaving her and Ron to dash towards his place. He held up a clear jar with the word 'gillyweed' marked on its cap.

Harry twisted the white top off and hesitantly reached inside, pulling out the topmost ball of greyish tentacles. It was about the size of a ping-pong ball, sitting unmoving in Harry's palm.

For a moment, the three of them said nothing.

"So… you reckon I just… eat it?" his face scrunched up in obvious distaste.

"I would think so," she supplied. "Maybe, oh I don't know—do a little bit more research on it?"

"I suppose," he mumbled back.

Ron just looked at the weed with disgust. She shook her head and waved her wand, conjuring a small jar for Harry to drop the magical plant in. He corked it with his free hand and slipped it into his outer pocket.

Harry heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Either way, I think this will work. Hermione, you're a genius for thinking about plants—Ron, you too. I think you read more books in last two weeks than you have in the past four years combined."

The red head laughed humorlessly, claiming that he was never going to read that many books again. Hermione simply smiled at Harry, trying to push Malfoy's face into the back of her mind.

It was the evening before the second task when Fred and George called Hermione and Ron to McGonagall's office. They were sitting in the common room, Ron was close to beating Harry in a game of chess and Hermione was finishing up her essay that was due next week. She exchanged glances with the redhead, but he seemed as clueless as she was.

"What for?" she asked first.

The twins shrugged. "Don't know, she didn't look very pleased though."

Hermione tried to remember if they had done anything worth punishment. She snorted, thinking of all the things she had helped the boys with, over half of them probably highly illegal. There didn't seem to be anything McGonagall could reprimand them for if she didn't already, so it definitely wasn't because they were in trouble.

Nodding at the twins, she set down her quill and Ron grumbled as he stepped away from the chessboard. Exiting the tower, the two made their way up to their head's office. After knocking, the wooden door swung open by itself and they walked inside, not surprised to see McGonagall at her desk looking more displeased than usual.

"Professor, you wanted to see us?" Hermione inquired.

"Yes," she gestured to the chairs. "Please sit." Hermione picked the red one, while Ron sat in the light purple one next to it. "You two are going to be asked to participate in the second task that is taking place tomorrow. I am sure Mr. Potter told you about the egg's message?"

Hermione gave a look at Ron, and they both nodded.

"We will take what you will sorely miss…" the professor reiterated. "The two of you along with Miss Chang and Miss Delacour will be put into a deep sleep, and set at the bottom of the lake for your champions to come and retrieve. We assure you that no harm will come to you during that time, and will immediately wake up when you reach the surface."

Ron sat up straighter. "Why are we both here though? Harry can't have two people he needs to save."

Hermione bit the inside of her lip, already knowing the answer.

"Miss Granger won't be there to be Mr. Potter's hostage." McGonagall explained. "She will be there for Mr. Krum."

Ron's eyes narrowed and he replied with a quiet 'Oh'.

After a few moments of explanation, Hermione and Ron agreed to their participation.

"I suppose we can't go to Harry and inform him?" Ron questioned.

McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Professor Dumbledore is on his way now and will cast the charm. And none of the other champions are aware of what is being taken from them."

Hermione forced down her anxiety, and took a steadying breath. Harry would be completely fine—he knew what he was doing. He would be okay.

True to McGonagall's word, their headmaster soon arrived with Cho Chang and a very young girl that looked no older than ten, but her features made her look strikingly similar to Fleur Delacour, she was no doubt, her sister. After giving them a pleasant greeting, Dumbledore began to call each of them forward, casting the spell and levitating the deeply asleep hostage to McGonagall. Hermione was the last to go.

The old wizard gave her a warm smile. "I hope all is well, Miss Granger?"

She nodded, glancing at Professor McGonagall from the corner of her eye. She recalled Malfoy's expression again, a small smile taking her lips.

"Better than before, I believe."

Dumbledore looked satisfied and tapped his wand on her forehead. Her vision blurred, making the last thing she saw was the bright twinkle in his clear blue eyes, looking as if he knew exactly what she was talking about.

* * *

Draco stared at the surface of the lake, feeling increasingly impatient as the minutes ticked by. He was standing at the very front of the wooden platform, Crabbe and Goyle behind him as the whole school waited for the champions to resurface.

What a bloody waste of time.

The novelty had worn off for him about thirty uneventful seconds of waiting after Potter had made his undignified entrance into the water, and the cheers and shouts around him had died down to a fervent whispering as the minutes passed. As he tugged at the cuffs of his robes and folded his arms, he caught sight of the headmaster's face, drawn and solemn as he peered down into the water. To his surprise, Weasley and Granger were not by his side with equally worried and equally annoying expressions on their faces.

He felt his ire spike again as memories of his last encounter with Granger flooded his mind again. Quickly, he forced it back out of his mind. If he could pretend that it hadn't happened, then maybe it didn't.

His frown deepened as his eyes trailed over the crowd. They were nowhere to be found. That didn't make sense. Why would Potter's loyal sidekicks not show up?

"Who d'you think's gonna come up first?" He heard Goyle say from behind him.

"I'm betting on Diggory," Crabbe replied, and Goyle grunted his agreement.

"What are they looking for anyways?" Goyle said.

"Dunno," Crabbe said dully. "Maybe galleons? I heard that…"

As Crabbe listed off possibilities that were less and less likely than the previous, Draco frowned as something the Bagman bloke said at the beginning floated across his mind.

The champions have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them…

He looked back to Dumbledore.

Something valuable...

His jaw clenched as the realization dawned on him.

If his hunch was right – and they usually were – people had been taken from them.

And if so, Diggory must have been paired with Chang, and the Beauxbatons girl most likely with Davies or someone from her school. It was obvious that Potter would either have to rescue Weasley or Granger, but since both were nowhere to be seen, then that would mean….

He scoffed as the pieces fell into place.

Of course. Krum.

No doubt, the brawny idiot would mess up and leave Granger down there, continuing the streak for Triwizard Tournaments that ended in a student's death.

Not that he cared.

Setting his jaw, his eyes settled back on the surface of the water just as chorus of gasps and screams erupted from the crowd, forcing all bothersome thoughts out of his head and his eyes snapped back up to the water.

* * *

The moment Hermione broke the surface of the black lake; she took a huge gulp of air and pushed strands of her hair out of her face. The frigid winter wind blew against her wet face, causing the arctic water to feel warm in comparison. Viktor was swimming next to her looking tired, his hand holding onto her arm, and the crowd was roaring with cheers. He swam to the end of the lake and helped her walk out. Thick blankets were immediately thrown over them, and she followed him to the side where Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang were resting, having obviously arrived minutes before they did. Surprisingly, Fleur was there as well, but alone. The champion was being looked over by mediwitches and wailing in rapid French about her failure.

"Herm-own-ninny," Viktor turned to her. "Are you okay? Cold?"

She shook her head. "I'm all right. Thanks for saving me so quickly. What did you use?"

He gave her a small smile but had a look of disappointment in his eyes. "I did human transfiguration, it vaz very difficult so it did not vork very veil…"

"Nonsense!" Hermione assured. "Human Transfiguration is very advanced spell work. The fact that I'm here is evidence of your skill."

Viktor shot her a grateful smile. Before he could speak again, the crowd erupted with noise and Hermione turned to see three heads pop out of the lake's surface.

Immense relief rushed through her whole body. She recognized Ron's alarming hair color against the dark water and Harry's glasses nearly falling off the tip of his nose. It had worked! He was alive and had even brought the Fleur's hostage with him. The three of them wadded out of the lake and walked over towards them wrapped in thick blankets. Fleur ran up to the him spluttering dramatic thank you's and planting kisses on Harry's cheeks.

The scores were finally announced, leaving Harry to tie first place with Cedric. Apparently, Dumbledore had talked to the Merchieftaness and had given extra points for having exceptional 'moral fiber' even though he had returned well after the hour time limit.

Viktor appeared disappointed again.

Hermione squatted down and gave a reassuring pat on the Bulgarian's shoulder. "Viktor, don't look like that… you did well."

His thick eyebrows furrowed. "I haff not done veil enough."

She sighed. "You were great. Don't think that points determine everything. You're well alive and besides, there's still the third task."

Viktor just gave her a pout that utterly did not fit with the rest of his image. "I am still behind."

She gave him a sharp look, daring him to try and contradict her again. After all those weeks of talking, she knew he was under an immense amount of pressure from his school to make it out as the champion. If she were to be honest, she didn't even care who won, just as long as Harry made it out alive—Viktor as well.

He just sighed and raised an eyebrow, appearing slightly less disappointed with himself. Giving him another reassuring smile, she stood up and followed him back to Dumbledore where they would be dried off and sent back to the castle.

"There is a vater beetle in your hair, Hermy-own." She heard Krum say as thick fluffy towels were wrapped around them, but she waved it off absent-mindedly as she fussed over Harry. When they were dry, they headed back into the castle and through the portrait hole.

The common room was brimming was chatter, and everyone was curious as to what it was like underwater. Hermione simply told them that she had been in a deep sleep and rolled her eyes as Ron fabricated a story of him fighting off merpeople while waiting for Harry to retrieve him.

A week later, Friday came around, which meant double potions with Slytherin. After their last conversation, she had expected Malfoy to stop ignoring her and continue his taunts in the halls, but to her utter surprise, he had remained the same — insulting Ron and Harry, but surprisingly making no comment towards her. To her relief, they hadn't seemed to have noticed. As she neared the dungeons with Harry and Ron, she noticed a group of Slytherins crowding around something and snickering. Pansy Parkinson turned to her, a mocking smile on her annoyingly well-shaped face, and a copy of Witch Weekly in her hand.

Hermione raised her eyebrow and risked a glance at Malfoy. He looked a bit different, a bit withdrawn but she couldn't place it. The next second, Pansy threw the magazine at her which she caught reflexively.

"I think you'll find it quite interesting, Granger."

The Slytherins snickered again but quieted as Snape appeared and ordered everyone inside. She sat in the back of the class with the boys to her left and opened the magazine, reading through its contents with a roll of her eyes.

Rita Skeeter had written another ridiculous article about her being a heart breaker, and betraying Harry's love for Viktor Krum. She read through the quotes with narrowed eyes and bit her tongue in suspicion. There were lines about him expressing his concern over her health right after the second task, and quotes of Hermione thanking him for saving her life and telling him that he was great. The last sentence suggested her brewing love potions illegally. What a load of rubbish! She snorted. But how on earth had Skeeter heard what she and Viktor were saying to each other? She doubted even the other champions had heard their conversation through the noise of the crowd.

"What is it?" Harry whispered while chopping up his ginger roots.

She tossed the article at him under the table and shook her head, still trying to think if she had seen the horrid woman. But that was impossible, Dumbledore had banished her from the grounds.

"Rita Skeeter and her usual lies again," she explained quietly. "Don't think too much of it."

Ron shot her an I-told-you-so look after scanning the article over Harry's shoulder, and ground his Scarab beetles with renewed energy. "What did I say? I told you not to mess with her!"

"It doesn't even matter," she said to Ron. "It's all lies anyway."

"But she wrote you out to be a — a scarlet woman!" he protested, louder than necessary.

Hermione raised a brow and snorted with laughter. "A scarlet woman?" she repeated, shaking with suppressed giggles as she looked around at Ron.

"It's what my mum calls them," Ron muttered, his ears going red.

"Well, if that's the best Rita can do, she's losing her touch," she said, still giggling.

She looked over at the Slytherins, who were watching her and Harry closely across the room to see if they had been upset by the article. She gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, but she noticed that Malfoy was still looking quite withdrawn, his serious face standing out amongst the snickering Slytherins.

"There's something funny, though," she said ten minutes later, holding her pestle suspended over a bowl of scarab beetles. "How could Rita Skeeter have known . . .?"

"Known what?" Ron said quickly. "You haven't been mixing up Love Potions, have you?"

"Don't be stupid," she rolled her eyes, starting to pound up her beetles again. "No, it's just . . . how did she know what Viktor and I were talking about?"

"What?" Ron said, dropping his pestle with a loud clunk.

"Right after he'd pulled me out of the lake…" she trailed off, thinking hard.

"What did he say?"

"She wasn't there…or was she? Maybe she has an Invisibility Cloak; maybe she sneaked onto the grounds to watch the second task…"

"And what did he say?" Ron repeated, pounding his pestle down so hard that it dented the desk.

She frowned at him. "Well, I was too busy- "

An icy voice cut her off.

"I see you three are having quite the conversation back here," Snape sneered, his tall stature looming over them intimidatingly. "Ten points from Gryffindor. I do want to hear the details of your love troubles in my class."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Harry kicked her under the table.

Pansy Parkinson snickered.

"You three, separate—," he pointed with a finger. "Weasley stay here, Miss Granger next to Mr. Malfoy, and Potter, the front most table. Move."

Hermione bit her tongue and grabbed all her things, shoving them into her bag with more force than necessary. This whole situation was utterly unfair! She released three calming exhales and walked next to Malfoy, setting her stuff over the empty side of the table on the left.

Her beating fast, she risked a side look at him. He wasn't looking at her, and he wasn't sneering at her either. She set her cauldron down and resumed crushing the beetles into fine powder. After a few minutes of working, her anger began to subside, ruled over by the need to perfect the potion.

Malfoy's elbow often collided with hers, but she didn't say a word. She thought he was doing it on purpose just to annoy her and glanced over to realize that it was because he was left-handed. No wonder no one usually sat to the left of him. She scrunched her nose; why hadn't she noticed that before? She'd seen him write essays plenty of times.

Pondering the thought, she set her mind back to the task in front of her, making sure to add three clockwise stirs every two minutes. Hermione decided to scoot over a few inches, giving him more space on the table. She caught his gaze as she moved away, his grey eyes looking at her with something intense that she couldn't decipher. She stared back and held her breath not trusting herself to say anything to him at the moment. They weren't friends—he might have been somewhat civil in the library, but that was when he was alone.

Hermione held the contact for a second longer before she tore her eyes away first, nearly missing her three stirs after another two minutes had gone by. She resumed breathing and tried to focus on getting the color of her potion accurate.

Hermione inwardly sighed. There was definitely something different about him, but she just couldn't figure out what it was.


	7. Bugged

CHAPTER SEVEN

**Bugged**

The next Hogshead weekend and Hermione, Harry, and Ron went to visit Sirius, bringing loads of food as he had requested in his letter to Harry.

After telling him about Winky and what happened at the World Cup, Sirius suggested that whoever stole Harry's wand must have done so while they were watching the game in the Top Box and that it was suspicious that Barty Crouch was looking around for something before he sacked Winky. Moreover, he agreed that it was strange how he didn't show up during the game and was now suddenly indisposed.

To Hermione's shock, Sirius told them that Crouch was the one who sent him to Azkaban without a trial. Apparently, Crouch was once poised to become the next Minister; during Voldemort's previous reign, Crouch had taken extreme measures against Death Eaters, even allowing Aurors to use Unforgivables against them. She was even more horrified when Sirius told them how Crouch's son had been caught with a group of Death Eaters and was locked up in Azkaban by his own father where he died a year later.

To Hermione's annoyance, Ron brought up Crouch's appearance in Snape's office which led to a whole discussion on whether Snape was trustworthy or not. She was firm in her beliefs that if Dumbledore trusted Snape, there must be a good reason.

Even then, they couldn't figure out why Karkaroff had turned up suddenly in Potions, and why Moody and Crouch had been searching Snape's office. They concluded that the Crouch must have overreacted to seeing Winky being accused of conjuring the Dark Mark because it reminded him of the scandal involving his own son.

On Sunday night after dinner, Hermione made her way into the library, her head still swirling from meeting Sirius. The library on Sunday nights was virtually always empty so she was grateful for the silence.

As she headed to her normal table, she froze. Through a space in the bookshelf, she had caught a glimpse of pale-blond hair. Her head whipped round immediately, and her eyes widened in disbelief.

Malfoy was standing in the Muggle Studies section.

Not daring to believe it, she quickly cast a Disillusionment charm on herself and tiptoed closer. She watched as Malfoy looked around suspiciously, surveying the spines on the shelf, before reaching up and taking two books off the shelf. Turning on his heel, he marched towards his usual spot and disappeared.

Malfoy was willingly researching Muggles! Surely, the sky was falling.

Clamping a hand over her mouth to conceal the gasp that would have otherwise come out very audibly, Hermione quickly scurried after him.

* * *

Sunday nights were usually spent in the Common room, with Crabbe and Goyle fooling around doing Merlin-knows-what, but tonight, he had an overwhelming load of last-minute homework to complete. Seeking some peace and quiet, Draco had gone to the library. As he headed towards his usual spot and walked past another aisle, he paused as a crevice in the bookshelf provided a view of a cluster of study tables.

Wasn't that Granger's spot?

He smirked. So she didn't live in the library after all.

Looking back at the tables, his eyes roamed quickly over every empty chair before he stopped himself. She was gone and he finally had the library to himself — that was all that mattered. Shaking his head at his ridiculous behaviour, he walked deeper down the aisle. Some of the titles on the shelf caught his eye, and he scoffed.

Of course. Out of all the sections available in the library, Granger had chosen to sit in the Muggle Studies section. He frowned as eyed the bookshelves with distaste. He had never touched a single book from this section in his life — he had no reason to. Peering closer, he narrowed his eyes at the dusty collections. They didn't look much dustier than the other books in the library, and there was certainly an unnecessary amount of them taking up the shelves…

His frown deepened.

He didn't even know why he was even considering it, but the fact that the answers were lying right in front of him, ready to be touched for the first time by the first self-respecting pureblood in centuries attracted him.

Sure, he had no doubts that she was just exaggerating things, but still, it wouldn't hurt to know what exactly Muggles did that was so worth praising, would it? And once he found out, he could apply his principles and be done with it all. After all, for his whole life, his values had been his religion — one measly book wouldn't change that. And wasn't there something about how 'knowing thy enemy' could be advantageous?

Making up his mind, he glanced quickly over his shoulder, making sure that he was completely alone before reaching forward and pulling out a book at random. Grasping the book tightly in his hand, he made his way back to his own table and began to read.

...

A half-hour later, Draco was feeling more and more irritated. He had intended to skim a few chapters at most, but now he was more than halfway through the book. He sat at his usual spot, another book sitting in front of him, as he flipped through the pages.

_What in the world?_

There were several concepts concerning what Muggles called "science" that he had never heard of in his life, but not only that, he was properly taken aback at the sheer amount of research they seemed to have done over the past hundreds of years. He clenched his jaw, as he tried to process what he had just read. None of this made any sense. How could there be so much information that seemed to come out of nowhere? How had Muggles been doing this meticulous research all along? And if it was real, why on earth did wizards not know about this? Merlin knows how much they could come up with if they used this information!

He slammed the book closed, breathing heavily. For a few moments, he sat there, hundreds of questions flitting through his mind. Picking up the book again, he looked at the back and front, making sure it wasn't some kind of hoax. It didn't seem like it was.

Before he could stop himself, he stood up, left the books on the table, and dashed off to the corner where Granger usually sat. The table was still empty. Sighing in frustration, his fingers trailing lightly over the table. He looked at the empty armchair with distaste. Where was the girl when he actually needed her?

He stiffened.

Needed her? What in the world was wrong with him?

He should be grateful that she was nowhere in sight...Thank Merlin, there was no way he was going to let Granger out of all people know that he had just willingly read a bloody book on Muggle Studies. He rubbed his temple in frustration.

Damn this all to hell.

Nothing that he read made sense. But he couldn't help but wonder… if everything he read was true, then that meant Muggles were in fact, much more advanced than he thought…

He instantly cut himself off.

No, he told himself stubbornly. This doesn't change anything.

But he didn't feel nearly as sure as he should have felt.

* * *

For the next half-hour, Hermione stood watching Malfoy read. One book was clutched tightly in his hands, the other lay facedown on the table. He hadn't moved at all as his eyes followed the words on the pages. Hermione watched his face closely, the curiosity inside her growing every second, but she could not read his tightly controlled expression. The only sign of emotion on his face was the grim set of his lips into a straight line.

A few minutes later, Malfoy slammed the book shut, with an annoyed expression on his face.

Hermione was startled by the sudden movement and she watched him flip the book around, as if he was inspecting it. The cogs in his brain seemed to be working furiously and without a warning, he stood up abruptly and disappeared around the corner. Hurrying after him after recovering from a slight heart attack, she scrambled after him as he weaved through the shelves and saw that he was gazing down at an empty table in the secluded back corner on the opposite side of the library in which he usually sat. There was clear disappointment in his eyes, as if what he was looking for had not been there. Following his line of sight at the library table, her brow quirked as she realized.

It was her usual table.

Malfoy approached the table slowly, his fingers trailing over the wood of the desk, and eyed the rather ratty armchair with distaste. He looked around the area as if he hadn't given up his search yet.

Was he looking for her? She thought. No, that was impossible. It was absurd to think that Malfoy even knew where she usually sat, let alone was looking for her.

Hermione composed herself. He probably wanted to come over and rub something in her face anyways.

_But would Malfoy want you to know that he had been reading the book in the first place? _

She slumped over. Her curiosity was killing her.

Quickly heading back to his spot, Hermione sat down at the opposite side of the table and read the spines of the two books he had taken._ A World Without Magic: Muggles, No-Maj_, and _The Non-Magique and Magical Theory of Muggle-Borns_. She had read them previously, curious to see how the magical community perceived the Muggle community and had been pleasantly surprised at the accuracy. Her heart thumped in her chest with excitement, and she wondered if he had finished both of them. Hearing footsteps suddenly round the corner, she quickly pulled out some parchment and pretended she was inspecting it.

"Granger."

She whipped her head up as if she was surprised.

"Malfoy?" She watched in secret amusement as his eyes quickly darted to the two books on the table and a flash of panic appeared, but he quickly masked it. She wouldn't have noticed it had she not been looking for it.

"Have you been here this whole time?" Malfoy asked with narrowed eyes.

"I only just got here," she replied nonchalantly, with a convincing frown.

"Then go sit somewhere else," he replied curtly. "This is my table."

Hermione raised her eyebrow and pretended to be surprised. "Your table? Then are these yours?" She glanced at the two Muggle Study books.

"No," Malfoy replied quickly through gritted teeth. "They were already there. I'm not going to put them back just because some blasted kid didn't want to."

It was rather fun, seeing him in denial when she knew the truth, but as soon as Malfoy reverted back to his cold expression, Hermione mentally smacked herself for ruining things. There was no way he was going to read those books in the near future now. By appearing, Hermione had unknowingly corned him.

She shrugged. "Whatever you say. Speaking of, what are you doing here so late?

He hesitantly walked over to the table and sat down, scowling as if he didn't want to be there. "It's quiet here... Well, it was before you got here," he added.

"I suppose if I had people like Crabbe and Goyle around for constant company, I'd want some quiet time, too," she replied haughtily.

He raised an eyebrow. "It's no wonder you're in the library all the time then."

Her jaw dropped at the insinuation. "Harry and Ron are nothing like Crabbe and Goyle!"

"Whatever you say," he echoed. He paused and eyed her warily. "Though they certainly did a decent job of pretending to be them back in second year."

There was a moment of silence before his words could fully sink in.

Her mouth fell open. "Y-you… you knew?" Though they hadn't exactly been discreet, she had assumed the whole 'turn into Crabbe and Goyle to find out if Malfoy opened the Chamber of Secrets' fiasco had at least gone undetected by Malfoy himself.

He gave her a scathing look. "I think you're mistaking me for your brainless friends now. It wasn't exactly hard to put two and two together…After all, the whole school was on about you turning into a cat."

Her face burned at the memory.

He smirked. "I suppose it was your idea?"

She ignored him, still feeling overwhelmed at this new information.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" She asked, utterly perplexed.

His face twisted into a scowl, clearly hating the reminder. "I hardly had any tangible proof, did I? Plus," he added, the edge of his lip curving slightly, "Bulstrode's reaction to seeing her cat's face on yours was compensation enough."

She couldn't help the laugh that escaped from her lips.

The sound seemed to startle Malfoy and something like surprise passed over his face before a disdainful look replaced it. "What _on earth _is that horrible sound coming out of your mouth, Granger?"

That sobered her and the smile melted off her face as she glared at him.

Why she had let her guard down, she didn't know.

...

A week passed, and soon, she was greeted with a painful reminder of Rita Skeeter's malicious gossip articles. After opening a mass of hate mail at breakfast, the last envelope had contained undiluted Bubotuber pus, gushing over hands which began to erupt in large, painful boils.

"Ow!" She cried, tears starting in her eyes as she tried to rub the pus off her hands with a napkin, but her fingers were now so thickly covered in painful sores that it looked as though she were wearing a pair of thick, knobbly gloves.

"You'd better get up to the hospital wing," said Harry, worriedly. "We'll tell Professor Sprout where you've gone. . ."

Hermione nodded and dashed out of the Great Hall, cradling her hands as the pain intensified.

Madam Pomfrey had been outraged upon hearing that Hermione had been under such shameless accusations. Once her hands were wrapped tightly in white bandages, the nurse had given her a stern look, telling her to be careful and shooed her out of the door. Hermione hadn't bothered to open any letters like that afterwards - not that she could anyways. Her hands were so sensitive for the next few days, that even turning the pages in a book had proved to be too much.

The following Wednesday, Hermione gripped her wand with difficulty — her hands were still swollen from the Bubotuber pus — and cast the Disillusionment Charm on herself before making her way to Malfoy's Charms class.

Sure, her hands may have been a temporary disability, but she still had her wits about her and would not be deterred.

If she had been counting correctly, Malfoy would likely be heading to the library today. After following him for half a year every week, she realized that he usually went to the library two or three times a month out of his four free periods, and it had already been another two weeks since their last conversation. Remembering how he had gone to do some research on his own, her heart soared. Perhaps, this was not as impossible as she had previously thought.

As she watched, Malfoy made his way down the stairs and stepped through the old doors of the library, his bag slung over his shoulder looking rather serious.

Taking deep breaths, Hermione decided to simply release the spell and pretend she had been in the library the whole time. It's not like it would have been a surprise. She strode through the towering shelves, taking care to make more noise than necessary, and rounded the corner just as Malfoy dropped down in his usual chair.

Their last meeting had ended relatively well, and as she plopped down opposite of him, she was pleased when he merely shot her a quick glare before pulling out his quills and parchment.

"What are you working on?" She asked, taking out her own materials.

He eyed her disdainfully. "Potions."

"Oh, so am I," she said, surprised. "The Health-Replenishing Draught essay?"

He nodded silently and she took it as a cue to work in silence.

They worked in complete silence for half an hour, and when she was finished, she saw with a twinge of annoyance that he was reaching the end of his essay as well.

Absent-mindedly drumming her fingers on the table, she let her gaze linger on the boy sitting across from her. His eyes were focused downwards on his essay, his brow furrowed in slight concentration as his pen flew across the parchment. As he shifted slightly in his seat, he moved into a spot of sunlight that made his hair look even lighter — almost luminescent. Frowning slightly, she couldn't help but notice how long his eyelashes were. That was hardly fair.

"Do you need something, Granger?"

She jumped, and her elbow jerked, knocking over her ink bottle.

"Christ!" She yelped, grabbing her parchment out of the way before the ink could bleed over the edges. Feeling slightly embarrassed that she had been caught staring, she avoided looking at Malfoy, who was currently watching her with an amused smirk on his face.

"This would never happen with pens," she groused, as she muttered a quick cleaning charm.

Malfoy's eyes followed her movements and he raised a brow. "Pens?"

"Oh, right," she said lamely. "They're essentially Muggle writing— "

"Stop right there, Granger," he frowned, shaking his head. "I don't want to hear anything about bloody Muggles contraptions and how they're oh-so-wonderful."

She gritted her teeth. Apparently, her untimely appearance in the library last time had done exactly what she had feared. "Malfoy, that mindset right there is exactly the problem."

"My only problem is you, Granger," he retorted sharply.

Letting out a sigh, she avoided his gaze and bent down to grab another ink bottle from her bag. Unfortunately, the edge of a tome jabbed the back of her hand and she immediately withdrew her hand.

"Ow!" She cried out. She had forgotten about the boils. Tears sprung to her eyes as she pulled the sleeve of her robe back and saw that the bandages were beginning to stain with fresh blood as some of the half-healed boils had burst.

"What's wrong with your hands?" Malfoy barked from the other side of the table. She looked up to see his eyes full of something like disdain or disgust. No doubt he thought she had some contagious infection.

"Don't worry," she grumbled, still smarting from his previous comment. "It's not some 'mudblood disease'. You won't be infected." She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice, but there was no way she was telling Malfoy about the hate mail. She would never hear the end of it.

"That's not what —" Malfoy started angrily before he stopped and seemed to compose himself. "Sure." His eyes lingered on her bloody bandage before looking at her with distaste. "Probably burned yourself while making a love potion for Krum, didn't you."

She glared at him, her temper flaring. "For the last time, I did not give him anything! How many times do I have to tell you? And what did I say about taking everything at face value? Especially things from Rita Skeeter… that utter cow of a —" She stopped abruptly when she noticed the small smirk that had spread on Malfoy's voice, his head tilted in victory.

Damn and blast, she had played right into his trap.

"Well, well, well, Granger. Looks like the article did get to you."

"We both know that all she writes is lies, Malfoy," she growled, "but fine. If you must know, I had a little gift of acid in an envelope the other morning. Happy?"

But she was surprised to see that he did not look happy. A grin of glee did not appear on his face. Instead, he appeared to have no reaction for a few seconds before the corner of his lip pulled down slightly. The expression was back — the one she recognized but didn't understand. It looked as if he was having some sort of clashing thoughts in his head, no doubt torn between whether or not he should laugh at her or scorn her for her misery.

"Granger," he said finally after a few moments. He sounded rather unsure of himself, which only made Hermione more suspicious. "Your situation is about as interesting to me as the large beetle I saw the other day out of season."

She frowned. It was a rather odd thing to say, even for him.

He cleared his throat. "Actually, thinking about it now, the beetle seems far more interesting."

Hermione gave him a death glare. He was toying with her! Noticing her murderous expression, Malfoy pulled a triumphant smirk before returning to his parchment. The nerve of him! He had taunted her, tricked her, and then mocked her. After reminding herself that cursing at Malfoy would make Dumbledore incredibly disappointed, she huffed and levitated her books out of her bag.

She needed a serious distraction from a certain blonde prat sitting on the other side of the table.

* * *

Draco sat at the Slytherin table, picking at his slice of uneaten toast while half-heartedly listening to Pansy tell them about the second-year Gryffindors she had run into the other day and revealing the creative hexes she had used on them. To humour them, he even suggested a few jinxes that had provided him with decent results, however, aside from the occasional smirk, his thoughts were occupied elsewhere. He had no interest in sabotaging their enemy house today, and as he took a sip from his goblet, he pondered the reason behind his lack of enthusiasm.

By some unforeseen force of nature, his eyes drifted towards the Gryffindor table and from years of practice, landed on the familiar tufts of black, red, and brown hair, but this time, he couldn't help from focusing on the head of brown, bushy hair.

Her head was tilted back, laughing with Weasley at something idiotic, no doubt, while Potter had a sheepish smile on his face.

Draco scowled upon taking in her expression of mirth, cheeks rosy, and hair visibly bushy, even from where he sat. Did she always have to look so bloody happy? A flash of white caught his attention, and his eyes trailed lower to the bandages on her hand that were peeking out of her robes.

He gritted his teeth, the memory of the bloodstains on her bandage coming to mind. He didn't know what he had been expecting; he didn't actually think that being a mudblood would dictate actually having muddy blood, but still…it had been strange to see that her blood... looked the same.

Running a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes. Bloody hell, he needed a distraction from his thoughts, something he realized he had come to need often in the past few weeks. Granger seemed to constantly hang around the edges of his mind, like an old cobweb just out of reach, and it drove him mad. He needed to forget her, put her pathetic excuse of an existence into the back of his mind, where it had been in the first place.

Just as he thought this, his eyes were met by brown ones from across the Great Hall.

As if he had been jolted by lightning, his train of thought came to a crashing halt as he became aware that his eyes were transfixed upon the subject of his very thoughts. Ripping his eyes away from her, he jerked by instinct, causing the others to look over at him.

Pansy broke off from her rant. "Are you alright, Draco?"

"I'm fine," he snapped, as multiple pairs of eyes focused on him.

"Alright," Pansy shrugged, and returned back to her chattering.

Too absorbed in his own thoughts, Draco didn't notice the pair of dark eyes that were watching him intently.

* * *

Hate mail continued to arrive for Hermione the following weeks, and although she followed Hagrid's advice and stopped opening it, several of her ill-wishers sent Howlers, which exploded at the Gryffindor table and shrieked insults at her for the whole Hall to hear. Even those people who didn't read Witch Weekly knew all about the supposed 'Harry, Hermione, Krum' love triangle now. She loathed to think what Malfoy's face had looked like at breakfast, and avoided looking at the Slytherin table all morning, though Pansy's shrieks of laughter couldn't escape her ears.

Her hands had fully recovered now, and Hermione was burning with a new, fiery determination, going through book after book on magical spying and information gathering. She was going to find out how Rita Skeeter was getting her information and nothing would stop her. She even stayed behind after Defence Against the Dark Arts was over and asked Professor Moody whether or not he had seen anything suspicious with his magical eyes but returned with nothing.

As the first week of April came rolling in, Hermione tossed another useless book aside that still hadn't given her a solid answer. Rita Skeeter didn't write another nasty article about her yet, but she felt like the time was soon. She just had to figure out how the blasted woman was getting her detailed information and stop her before Rita could pop out another article.

Practically storming back to the Common room after class, Harry and Ron seemed to be making sure that a significant amount of distance was between them, as if she were about to explode at any moment. Which she was close to.

"Give it up, Hermione," Ron suggested. "There's no point."

"Maybe she's bugged the castle," Harry joked. "Using Muggle technology would be a twist."

She rolled her eyes. "That's impossible, Harry. How many times have I told you? Muggle technology doesn't —"

She stopped suddenly in her tracks, causing Ron and Harry to almost crash into her. Her thoughts were running at a hundred miles per second.

Could it be? …

"Hermione?" Harry waved his hand in front of her face. "Are you all right?"

Setting her jaw, she turned to him sharply. "Harry, you told me you and Ron overhead Hagrid talking with Madam Maxime. Did you see anything suspicious around?"

Harry thought for a minute and shrugged. "Can't really remember. I was distracted by this huge beetle, so I didn't really look around much... Ron did you?"

But she had heard enough.

She quickly replayed the memory of Viktor helping her to the sidelines after the second task and frowned in concentration. She vaguely remembered that he had mentioned that there was a beetle stuck in her hair.

Your situation is as interesting to me as the large beetle I saw the other day out of season.

Hermione gasped.

Actually, thinking about it now, the beetle is far more interesting.

She gasped again.

"Hermione? What's wrong?"

Was Rita Skeeter an Animagus? And an unregistered one at that. It just couldn't be. Malfoy couldn't have possibly known, and even if he had, there was no way he would tell her. But the way he had acted and the way he had spoken…

It hit her hard, as if she had been doused in cold water.

He had been giving her a clue.

"What, Hermione?" Ron said in confusion. "Bloody hell, what is going on?"

Hermione finally turned to Ron and Harry and shook her head furiously. "Nothing, nothing… I'll tell you guys when I'm absolutely, one hundred percent sure."

Both boys gave her looks of curiosity and mild fear, looking as if they'd almost rather not know what she had discovered. They mumbled in agreement and ushered her along the Gryffindor tower corridor. She didn't remember walking, but the next moment, she was sitting on her bed, staring out the window.

It had been so damn obvious! How could she have not put the two together? How long had it been since Malfoy had said that to her—a little less than a month? Groaning, she dropped her head on the fluffy pillow and cursed her lack of sense. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She had been so mad at herself for falling for his tricks that day in the library that everything he said to her afterwards had practically entered one ear and left the other.

Just what was Malfoy thinking? Why would he give her such a hint anyways? Her mind drifted to her injured hands but cut the thought off immediately. That was absurd. He may have started to slowly tolerate her presence without pulling out his wand, but he was far, very far, from being polite, let alone caring. The idea of him telling her because of the hate mail was so far-fetched, it was almost funny.

Hermione felt her throat tighten as she realized that he was possibly striking up some sort of iffy deal. He would give her information on Skeeter, and ask for something in return. It was the Slytherin thing to do. It was the Malfoy thing to do. Hermione bit the inside of her lip, dread filling her chest, and she hoped that he wouldn't demand something too unreasonable. But again, this was Malfoy.

Her stomach did flip-flops when she registered that tomorrow was Wednesday. Malfoy would most likely be at the library, as he had visited the library only once, early on in the past three weeks. Hermione had felt too unprepared to talk to him that day, so she had settled with observing again.

After grumbling for another ten minutes, Hermione rose from her bed, deciding that she had spent enough time feeling sorry for herself. When tomorrow came around, she needed a solid plan of action.

Wednesday afternoon, Hermione was standing in front of the Quidditch pitch, her plan completely out the window. Quite literally, in fact.

She had hoped Malfoy would go to the library today, but he had decided to make use of the clear April weather, grabbed his broom and took off within minutes of leaving class. She sighed and leaned against the wall of the short tunnel, hidden from view. The stands were nowhere to be seen and not a single other person was in sight. Malfoy had released the snitch a few minutes after taking off, and Hermione continued to watch him fly around the pitch. The moment he spotted it, his lowered his torso and flew like a bullet, chasing after the tiny golden ball. After catching it, he would throw it in the air again, letting it speed off for another round.

She had watched him fly dozens of times since September, and she still couldn't stop herself from admiring his skill. Once Malfoy had caught the snitch for the third time, she sucked up all her Gryffindor courage and released the Disillusionment charm. She stepped out of the shaded tunnel, and walked onto the grassy field.

For a moment, she held her breath and gazed around the pitch. She had never been on the Quidditch field before and quickly realized that sitting in the bleachers and standing on the actual field were two completely different feelings—and she wasn't even playing a game.

Hermione glanced at the sky, looking for Malfoy's figure. She spotted him high above the goal posts and jumped when something zoomed by her ear. Turning her head, she saw a small golden ball fly around her head, its wings a complete blur from the speed of its movement. She trailed the snitch as it flew around her, awed at the size and speed of the tiny ball. She would never admit it, but she felt a sense of serious admiration for Harry and even Malfoy.

There was a distinct sound of billowing robes to her right. She turned her head, finally noticing Malfoy dive straight at her, cutting through the air like lighting. In the next second his gloved hand shot in front of her face, missing her nose by millimeters and closing on the snitch. The rest of his body followed, flying past her. He jerked his broom into a sharp turn towards her but still hovered a good six feet in the air.

He was panting slightly, and Hermione could see his pale skin glisten with sweat, his cheeks tinged pink from the rush of blood, his hair slightly dishevelled. It was an extremely odd sight to behold. He was usually so poised, looking like a carved statue.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked. He was out of breath but apparently not enough to prevent him from mocking her. "Honestly, I never thought I'd see the day—Granger stepping out on the field."

She rolled her eyes and craned her neck to look at him. "I saw you from the library window and came to ask you something."

That had been a lie but obviously he didn't have to know that.

His eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you want?"

"The question is, what is it that you want?" she asked, feeling nervous again.

He didn't seem to understand. "What I want for what?"

'"For telling me about Skeeter," she clarified, waiting for him to taunt her.

She wasn't disappointed.

Malfoy's lips immediately curved into an amused smirk. "Don't tell me you just figured it out? Really, how idiotic—"

"I was a little angry!" She interrupted, feeling very embarrassed that it had taken her so long. Not that she was ever going to admit that to him. "And you can't blame me for not taking what you say seriously. It's not like you especially think about what I say either."

That was a lie as well, but Malfoy didn't know that she saw him reading the books from the Muggle Study section.

His grey eyes regarded her carefully. Hermione fidgeted under his stare, and gulped down her anxiety.

"Tell you what, Granger," he began. "There is not a single thing that you can reveal to me that has the same weight as what I told you about Skeeter. So instead, you will owe me a favour."

"A favor?" she repeated. She had seen this coming but still, her heart lodged in her throat. "What exactly?"

"I'm not sure yet," he said smoothly. "But swear to me right now that you will remember and fulfill it when the time comes."

She took a step back. "Not a chance. I don't trust you with something as heavy as that."

"It has nothing to do with trust," he sneered. "Are you really going to walk away from someone who helped you? I thought you'd have more honor than that, Granger."

Hermione growled under her breath. He was pressing her buttons with expert precision, trapping her in her own words.

"I do," she argued. "Only, you would ask me to jump off a cliff as a favor, so no."

"As much as that would be a favor to everyone, not only me," he replied.

She glared at him.

"...it's going to be a favor that's ultimately going to benefit me."

"Of course," she muttered, fighting off the instinct for her to run from the field immediately. Every cell in her body was wavering in alarm, telling her she wasn't in a good situation. How could she ever place that level of trust in Malfoy?

That same feeling must be given, even to those who you think are undeserving of it.

Clamping her eyes shut, she tried to fight off Dumbledore's words, but she knew what he said was true.

She sighed.

Maybe it would benefit her task in the long run. She was trying to change Malfoy's views after all. He certainly wasn't going to make the first move so she had to be the one to give her trust before she could expect anything in return.

"I swear it," she spoke through clenched teeth, peeling her eyelids back and staring at the grass. "On my honor, I will grant you one reasonable favor in the future."

A few moments of silence passed by and she forced her gaze upwards, staring at him defiantly.

A satisfied smirk took his lips.

"You swore it," he repeated. "Don't forget."

"I won't," she said firmly, crossing her arms.

"Very well. Have you caught her?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"What?" she frowned, confused at the change in topic. "Oh—Skeeter? No, not yet. But I will… very soon. She's going to regret writing all those horrible lies. How did you find out about her anyway?"

He gave her an as-if-I'm-going-to-tell-you look. "That's something I won't disclose. Can't have you knowing all my secrets, now can I?"

She pursed her lips and gave him a pleading look. "Then can I ask for your help?"

"You want my help?" he repeated incredulously. "What for?"

"To catch her," she said. "I have a plan."

"And are you going to owe me another favor in return?" he slyly suggested.

She grimaced. "Can't you help me this once without making it into some kind of exchange?"

"I don't help people out of the goodness of my heart, Granger," he said sharply. There was an annoyed glint in his eyes.

She inwardly sighed.

"All right, fine. I will owe you two favors," she agreed reluctantly. There wasn't much he could ask her anyway. "On my honor as a Gryffindor. Now will you listen to me?"

"Start talking," he directed.

Hermione glared at him but told him the plan. He listened intently, and nodded slightly in understanding, raising eyebrows from time to time.

Once she made sure he understood, she finally agreed to leave him in peace to fly.

"You know, Malfoy," she said quietly as he shifted his weight on the broom, ready to fly away. She didn't want to scare him off with her sentimentality so she chose her words carefully. "You're not as bad as you seem. Really. It's a shame that no one else sees that."

He blinked twice, eyes widening, then narrowing. He regarded her silently, giving her that look again—as if he was trying to decide between two evidently difficult emotions. But knowing Malfoy, he was probably caught between scoffing at her and mocking her.

Not wanting to receive either of those reactions, she gave him a little half-wave, and spun on her heel dashing off the Quidditch pitch, her shoes digging into the ground.

* * *

Draco watched with narrowed eyes as the girl sped off back towards the castle without looking back, her words ringing in his ears.

His jaw tightened.

He still didn't for the life of him know why he had told her about Skeeter's little secret but it didn't hurt that now he had two favours from her at his disposal. Though he didn't have anything in mind yet, there was no doubt that it would come in handy one day.

Shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the situation, he kicked his boot viciously into the dirt and flew off into the air, losing himself in his favourite sport and forcing all thoughts of nosy Gryffindors out of his head.


	8. The Dark Lord's Return

CHAPTER EIGHT

**The Dark Lord's Return**

Warm rays of sunlight soon replaced the light spring breeze as they entered into May. Hermione basked in front of the black lake, trying to forget all her problems for a solid half-hour. She closed her eyes and lay in the grass, listening to the wind pick up around her ears and her hair tousling in the breeze. Her homework for next week had been finished since yesterday, and all she wanted was a moment to melt away in silence.

Nothing lasted long enough.

Turning to the side, she began to think about everything that had happened in the previous weeks. The third task had been introduced in the third week of May. She nearly pulled her hair out after hearing Harry had to go through a maze filled with wild creatures—why couldn't anything be safe for him?

To top the night off, he and Viktor had met Mr. Crouch by the Forbidden Forest, apparently delusional and muttering incoherently about Voldemort. To Hermione's horror, Viktor had been stunned by the time Dumbledore arrived, and it was best to say that Karkaroff was not too happy about the incident. The three of them had a brief conversation with Professor Moody once he returned from the forest, but Crouch had escaped the grounds somehow.

She and Ron were constantly helping Harry with new spells that would keep him alive during the third task, but it wasn't enough to ease the lump of nervousness in her throat.

Lost in her thoughts, a distant toll warned her that the lunch period was about to end, and getting back to her feet, she slung her bag over her shoulder before trudging back to the castle.

As she crossed over the courtyard and turned a corner, she crashed into a robed figure.

"Oh!" She exclaimed in surprise as her bag tumbled to the floor. Feeling mildly annoyed, she looked up at the obstacle to see —

Her mouth fell open.

"Malfoy?"

She rarely met him alone outside of their encounter in the library, but here he was, standing in front of her — or looming over her, rather — with a glare on his face. "Maladroit as always, I see."

"Whatever," she mumbled, bending down to pick up her bag, and effectively shielding her reddening face from view. She rarely met him alone outside the library, and suddenly, she felt strangely exposed. "What are you doing here?"

His glare deepened. "What are you doing here?"

Fine, be that way, she thought pettily.

"Have you talked to Skeeter yet?" She asked, deciding on changing the subject.

"Not yet," he replied, folding his arms. "I have a life, you know, beyond chasing down illegal reporters."

She rolled her eyes. "I do happen to know, actually, since it involves bringing about the downfall of my best friend," she said sarcastically.

His face immediately darkened, his eyes narrowing. "That's hardly any way to speak to someone whose help you want, is it?"

"Alright, alright," she said hastily. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. It's not my fault you don't know what a joke is."

He seemed to contemplate her words before raising a haughty brow. "Thinking about my knickers won't help your case, Granger."

Her jaw dropped. Before she could even process or splutter out a coherent response, his smirk melted into a scowl.

"Now stop gaping and move out of my way."

"Whatever," she growled, moving to the left to walk around him, but just as she did so, he moved in the same direction and she almost crashed into him.

Huffing, she stepped to the side to let him pass first, just as he did the same.

His scowl deepened.

Sighing, she moved to the right so that she could go around him. It seemed that the thought had occurred to him as well and he let out an exasperated sigh as she bumped into him. Again.

"Granger, stop," he snapped, finally. Putting his hands on her shoulders to keep her still, he stepped around her. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" He drawled, but she was too startled to care. He had touched her without a second thought, without any disgust on his face, and for some reason, it left her feeling rather taken aback. He seemed to have realized it too, and he instantly dropped his hands, his face suddenly unreadable.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner, the opposite way which he was originally heading.

Her eyes widened at his rude dismissal and she scoffed in disbelief at his hot-and-cold demeanour. One second, he was almost civil, and the next, he was discourteous as ever.

Shaking her head, she unrooted herself from her position and continued down the corridor.

It was Friday evening after their Double Potions class, and they were having another training session with Harry in an empty classroom that McGonagall had lent them. Ron tired out first as usual and leaned towards the open window, letting the wind blow against his face.

"Hey look," he called after a few minutes. "Malfoy's out there. What'd you reckon he's doing?"

Her heart jumped slightly at his name as she made her way to the window with Harry. Peeking out the frame, she spotted the blonde against a tree holding his hand up to his face as if he was talking to it. Crabbe and Goyle were behind him, seemingly looking for any spectators.

She didn't think she'd actually see Malfoy play his part. A smile broke out on her face, but she quickly suppressed it when Harry's voice broke through her thoughts.

"Looks like he's using a mobile phone or something," he suggested, not looking particularly interested.

She forced down her excitement and shook her head in exasperation at Harry. "Harry, I told you those things don't work here. Come on—you have to work on your shield charm."

Nodding, Harry followed her back to the center of the classroom, practicing the shield over and over again.

After an hour of hard work, both boys were exhausted and agreed to head down to dinner. Ron practically bolted out of the room, eager to stuff himself with food. She grabbed Harry's arm, and hushed him before he tried to ask.

"Listen Harry," she whispered, watching Ron head down to the Great Hall. His mind was obviously filled with the idea of dinner, he didn't notice his two best friends trail behind. "Tomorrow after dinner, can you come to the third classroom in the North Tower? I have something to tell you."

"Why?" he frowned. "What's going on?"

She shook her head. "It's a plan to catch Rita Skeeter. Just remember, everything I tell you in that room is a lie. Got it?"

Harry nodded slowly, giving her a strange look. "All right… what am I supposed to do?"

"Just react to what I say," she suggested. "But at least try and act like you don't know I'm lying."

"So you're going to spout some nonsense and hope Rita Skeeter arrives?" he raised an eyebrow. "You do know she's banned from the grounds, right?"

"Of course I know that," she affirmed. "But I have no doubt in my mind that she'll be there. I just need your help in bringing her closer so I can catch her."

"Erm—how exactly are you going to catch her?" he inquired, obviously confused.

"Just trust me on this, Harry," she said quickly. "I'll explain everything tomorrow."

He gave her a curious look but held his questions back. "Okay, I'll be there. But what about Ron?"

She inwardly smirked. Having him there would be a disaster.

"Don't let him know. Shake him off after dinner and meet me up there."

"All right, Hermione," he sighed in defeat. "I hope your plan works."

"It will," she smiled, feeling relieved. "And remember to act surprised."

After agreeing and bobbing his head multiple times, Hermione finally let go of his wrist and they resumed their walk to the Great Hall. Ron didn't even seem to notice their momentary disappearance.

Once dinner was over, she excused herself from the boys and left the large walls of Hogwarts, making her way down a familiar path towards the Durmstrang ship. The wind seemed to blow even harder near the lake, but Hermione gritted her teeth and continued onward. She spotted a group of Durmstrang students by the dock, and made their way towards them.

"Uhm—hello?" she greeted as a younger boy noticed her approach. She recognized him from the ball, but she had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to tell she was the same girl who went to the ball with their champion.

"Hallo," he greeted back. "Ah—you are Hermy-own."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Yes… You know me?"

The boy barked a short laugh. "Viktor told everyvon about you, so that ve could not ask you to the ball."

"Oh," she buried her face in her scarf as she felt her cheeks flare. "Well, I'm actually looking for Viktor. Is he around?"

His nose scrunched up in thought. "He is inside. Follow me."

Before she could take back her words and say she would come back tomorrow morning, the Bulgarian stalked off and Hermione scurried after him without another choice.

"I thought your Headmaster doesn't allow visitors?" she asked quietly as they walked up the side.

"Veil, Karkaroff is not in," he explained, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Hermione just nodded, satisfied that the sharp looking man wasn't going to question her motives for coming. He would probably assume she was trying to trick Viktor or get some information to Harry.

They walked through the large opening and into the halls, passing by the dining room and the large living area. After cutting some corners, the boy arrived at a wooden door at the end of the hallway and banged on it, shouting in Bulgarian.

A few seconds later, Viktor's voice shouted back in the foreign language, muffled by the surprisingly thick walls.

The boy sighed and yelled something again. Instead of responding, she heard rushed footsteps from inside the room, and the door swung open by a quick pull.

Viktor appeared in the doorway, dressed in a loose sleeveless shirt, his wand in hand. She could see traces of sweat near his hairline and noticed the way his breath sounded slightly heavier than usual. He looked at the boy for a second before turning to notice her, eyes wide.

"Herm-own-nee!" he blinked a few times, looking shocked.

The boy said a few words to Viktor that sounded awfully a lot like the tone of 'I told you so' and stalked off. Viktor replied gruffly and shook his head before finally turning back to her.

"Sorry—come in?" he moved to the side, and she slipped past him with a nervous smile.

"I hope I'm not bothering you, Viktor," she bit her lip, not knowing where to go.

The room was quite spacious filled with odd things here and there. There was a comfy looking bed against the far wall with a desk, nightstand, and a large trunk at the leaning against the bedframe. The wall to her right looked completely beat up with all kind of scorch marks and cuts.

"You are not bothering me," he assured. "I vos practicing spells for the third task, so I told them not to disturb me. I thought Jarod vos lying to me so I vould leave the room—"

She released a quiet 'oh' and nodded in understanding. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a small handkerchief, and handed it to him with an amused smile.

A light flush crossed his face, and he took it with a silly grin.

"Thank you… Vot brings you here?" he asked, wiping his forehead. "Is it something bad?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "No, not at all. And well, it's not the main reason, but are you all right? I haven't seen you in the library since I heard you were attacked."

Viktor's face darkened. "I am okay, vos hit by a stunning spell by the mad Crouch man… and I vonted to practice for the third task so I haff been spending more time here." He gave her a slight smile. "Vot is the other reason?"

"Tomorrow after dinner, do you think you can meet me in the third classroom of the North Tower?" she asked immediately.

He blinked.

"It's also called the Divination Tower," she explained.

His eyes lit up in recognition.

"Take the staircase to the seventh floor, and the third classroom to the right is empty."

"I can do it," he confirmed. "Vot is going on?"

She gave him a mischievous grin. "I have a plan to catch Rita Skeeter, and I need your help."

He frowned. "The voman that vrote bad things about you and Harry Potter?"

"The one and only," she said, nodding. "But once I catch her, she's not going to be writing anymore lies."

"Vot are you planning?"

"You'll see." She smiled. "I just need you to meet me there after dinner. And remember that everything I tell you will be lies. Don't believe them."

"Lie?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, it's part of my plan," she explained. "But you have to react like you don't know I'm lying. Can you do it?"

He looked jokingly offended. "Of course. I vill be there."

"Thanks, Viktor," she glanced at the tattered wall. "Your spell work looks great by the way."

"I haff much vork to do still," he said sheepishly.

"Then I'll leave you now," she smiled, feeling relieved.

"I vill volk you back," he insisted.

"Oh, but…" he shot her an unwavering look. "Oh, all right. Thank you."

Viktor tucked his wand away and pulled the heavy door open for her, gesturing for her to leave first. He led her in a different route than Jarod had, giving her a quick tour of the ship and its communal rooms. She lost her breath at the sheer size of the place and concluded that it had been magically enlarged from the inside.

Viktor walked with her all the way to the castle, keeping up a light conversation to fill the silence. As she neared the archways, Hermione turned to face him.

"I'll be okay from here," she assured. "Thanks for walking me."

He gave her a small smile before leaning down and giving her a quick kiss on her cheek. He lingered near her ear. "I vill alvays be here to help you, Hermione."

Before she could even react properly, he pulled back just as quickly and retreated from his position, giving her one last wave before turning around and melting into the night.

The day crept by slowly and Hermione's hands were itching for night to fall. When her last class was over, she headed to dinner with Harry and Ron, neatly stabbing her peas with her fork and running through the plan in her mind. Tonight was going to be written in her personal history book. She would catch that blasted Skeeter woman once and for all.

Deciding to head up, she sent Harry a look. He glanced back from across the table, nodded and mouthed 'okay' at her. She lifted her head and looked across the Great Hall, lowering her gaze on the Slytherin table. Viktor was sitting to the far left. She gave him a quick smile as she remembered the previous night's events, and dared to scan the table for a mop of white blonde hair. She was surprised to lock eyes with him immediately, as if he had been looking her way already.

He glared at her, turning his eyes away the next second. She snorted, that was probably the best kind of acknowledgement she was going to get.

"I'm heading to the library," she announced, getting up from her place. No one bothered to question her.

Hermione trekked up to the North Tower and located the third classroom, pushing the large door open and stepping inside. She flicked on the lights and surveyed the room. There was a large table in the back—presumably for the professor, and a few long wooden workstations stacked on top of each other to her left. She cleaned the offending dust and webbing with a wave of her wand, pulled down one of the long tables, and pushed it towards the center of the room.

There were several large windows across the wall, looking caked with age and dust. She walked over to the furthest window near the professor's desk and pushed it open with difficulty. The cool night air blasted her face, sending her hair flying in all directions. She grumbled and combed through the crazy locks with her fingers and took a steadying breath.

Her stomach squirmed nervously as she began to pace around the room keeping an eye on the open window. Much to her own surprise, she didn't doubt Malfoy at all. If he had played his part convincingly, Rita Skeeter would be making her way towards the North Tower any moment.

As the minutes ticked by, she glanced at the window for the umpteenth time, and her eye caught on a dark ground beetle sitting innocently on the window frame.

Got you.

She quickly turned away and began pacing again, trying to appear nervous. A few paces later, the classroom door creaked opened and Harry walked in.

"Hermione?" he called awkwardly, glancing around the room. "So, what is it that you wanted to tell me?"

She sucked in a breath and held up a hand. "Well, I'm waiting for someone else. He'll be here soon."

Genuine surprise flashed through his green eyes. "Er—well, all right." He stood awkwardly near the back of the classroom, shifting his weight between his feet.

True to her word, the door opened again. Viktor slid through, glancing around the room, his gaze falling on her first.

"Herm-own-ne!" he greeted. He glanced right, finally noticing Harry. "Potter? Vot is going on… vy is he here?"

"Krum?" Harry looked a bit taken aback. "Hermione asked me to come here and talk to her."

"She said same to me," he frowned.

"I need to tell you both something very important," she interrupted, glancing at the window again. The beetle had left the frame and crawled to the professor's desk. It was closer to where they were standing, but not close enough. She needed to coax it closer. "I just didn't want anyone to overhear what I had to say…"

She quieted her voice glancing between Harry and Viktor.

"What is it?" Harry asked first.

"Well I wanted to tell you guys much earlier," she whispered, trying to sound scared. "But I just couldn't pluck up the courage. Promise you won't be mad?"

"Ve von't be mad," Viktor said, giving her a curious look.

"Well… the truth is," she started. "I'm actually dating Ron."

Even though she had told them she would be lying, both boys looked extremely surprised, or they were acting very well.

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "Ron? You're dating Ron?"

"The boy vit red hair? You are seeing him Herm-own-y?" Viktor sounded outraged.

She squeaked, actually feeling slightly afraid. She took a few steps back towards the other desk she had shoved to the center of the room, noticing that her target had moved onto the corner of the table.

"Yes, I am so sorry," she whispered, reaching into her robes and pulling out her wand. Harry and Viktor both leaned back as if she was going to attack them. "I didn't mean to lie to you, but I just never got the chance to say…"

With a quick flick, she conjured a glass jar and grabbed it with her free hand, holding it against her chest and away from the beetle's view.

"How could you keep that from me?" Harry asked, looking like he wanted to ask what she was doing.

"And lie to me," Viktor added, his accent thicker in his supposed anger. "You said you vos not seeing anyone."

"I just like Ron so much," she explained, gripping the bottom of the jar. "I couldn't admit it to you guys… Not when there are people out there—you see, who illegally listen to private conversations!"

Feeling an adrenaline rush, she turned on the spot with the jar in hand and slammed it down over the desk, trapping the large beetle inside. She pointed her wand at the glass and casted the unbreakable charm over it, sealing the lid with another flick. She poked tiny holes at the top for air and tucked her wand back in her robes.

The room fell silent.

Hermione's heart thudded with glee as she flipped the jar over, causing the beetle to tumble around and fall on its back. Its legs were squirming with mad movement as it righted itself and began to flick the glass.

"I got you," she finally said, starting intently at the insect. She caught distinct markings around its eyes, looking exactly like the dreadful glasses she wore in her human form. "Rita Skeeter."

"Erm… what?" Harry was the first to ask. "What did you get?"

Hermione turned around again lifted the jar for both of them to see.

"This. Rita Skeeter is an unregistered animagus, who takes form of a beetle," she explained. "She used this to spy on people and listen to conversations that normally she wouldn't be able to hear. That's how she's been getting into Hogwarts as well. See those marks? Those are her distinguishing features, looks awfully a lot like her glasses don't they?"

Both boys approached her slowly, staring into the glass. Hermione was sure if beetles had the muscle capacity to frown, Skeeter would have been glaring like death at them.

"Now that I think about it…" Harry muttered. "There was a beetle I saw when Hagrid and Madam Maxime were talking!"

"Exactly," Hermione agreed.

Viktor on the other hand, still looked overwhelmed by the information.

She raised the jar back up to her eyes, and flashed a smug smile. "In case you haven't figured it out, Skeeter, everything I said in here was a lie. I knew you would do anything for a chance to hear Viktor, Harry and I speak about secretive things, so I set this up. Can't transform back either, right? That's because I put an Unbreakable charm on it."

"Hermione…" her green-eyed friend looked at her in awe.

She set the jar down and gave both boys a shy smile. "Er—sorry for using you guys, and especially sorry you had to hear me say something like that. I needed her to get in the classroom so the lies were needed—incredible acting skills though."

"I vos actually shocked," Viktor said honestly, still looking at the jar, and running his hands through his short hair. "It vos no act."

"Same with me," Harry laughed nervously. "I know you said you would be lying but it still surprised me."

Hermione muffled a laugh. "Ron and I have more arguments than decent conversations. Good thing he's not here though right?"

"Yeah," he breathed back, a smile on his lips.

There was a strange sense of freedom in the air after knowing that Skeeter wouldn't be listening to any further conversations.

"And vot are you planning for her?" Viktor asked.

She narrowed her eyes at the jar and simply raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I have a pretty good idea…"

Both boys looked apprehensive.

After a week had gone by without seeing Skeeter around anywhere, Draco knew that Granger's plan must have succeeded. Crabbe and Goyle had aided him in his part without a second thought, and knowing how persistent she could be, Skeeter was probably locked up in some airtight jar deep in the dungeons. A glimpse of her jubilant face during dinner confirmed it.

Of course, his participation didn't come without a price.

Crabbe and Goyle thought that he had come up with another genius plan to sabotage the trio, and their sycophant praises had grated deeply on his nerves. He had managed to give them the slip by disappearing off into a nearby corridor as the crowds of students headed back to their common rooms after dinner.

As he stalked past the courtyard garden, without a particular destination in mind he couldn't help but feel disgruntled.

It wasn't the first time he had kept details from the two, but something about it irked him.

Sure, he wasn't helping Granger — after all, they had struck a fair deal — but the fact that he was doing anything that had benefitted her made him uncomfortable. It was worse that he was doing something that could even be mistaken for helping her.

But then again, he told himself as he strode down the empty corridor, life without that damned reporter surely boded well for himself as well.

His thoughts were cut short when he made to round the corner but heard voices. He stopped in his tracks as bits of far-away conversation floated within earshot.

"— well, and you?"

He immediately recognized Dumbledore's voice, but a few more words were exchanged that he couldn't make out.

Taking a few more steps forward he folded his arms and listened.

"—of course."

Speak of the Devil. It was Granger.

"—is going well?"

"— yes, sir."

"— difficult task, but…"

"—alright…"

Draco frowned, his mental alarm blaring at the words.

Task?

The voices were drifting further and further away, but he had heard enough.

Slowly, an idea formed in his mind, and a small smirk made its way on his face. He stalked back towards the way he came from, this time with only one thought occupying his mind.

Hermione was skipping for the rest of the week. The Quidditch pitch was being occupied for the third task, so Malfoy set his course back to the library on Wednesday evening.

She didn't bother with the Disillusionment charm today, and nearly jumped into the free chair at his table.

Malfoy raised his blonde head from his essay and lifted an eyebrow at her smile.

"Don't look so bloody jolly, Granger," he scowled. "You're disturbing me."

"Oh hush," she chided, keeping the smile on her face. "I can be as jolly as I want."

"You're practically prancing in the hallways," he said dryly. He paused in mock contemplation. "I think I really regret helping you."

"Oh, come off it, Malfoy," she rolled her eyes. "Stopping Skeeter was for the good of all wizarding kind!"

He snorted. "Actually, her articles were quite amusing. Well, anything regarding Potter about to breathe his last—"

She took a sharp breath. "Don't joke about that, Malfoy!"

He raised an eyebrow. "I can joke about anything I please."

"Then I can be as jolly as I please," she retorted.

"Is that so…" He turned serious. "Even if I ask you what Dumbledore meant by 'your task'?"

Hermione paled as she remembered the conversation she had with the Headmaster days ago where he had asked her how the mission was going.

"You — you were eavesdropping?" She spluttered.

Malfoy's face darkened. "I don't eavesdrop, Granger. I just happened to overhear a few words."

She frowned. "Malfoy, you do realize that that sounds an awful lot like eavesdropping."

He ignored her. "So?"

"It's none of your concern, Malfoy." It was definitely too soon to tell him anything.

"Oh, really now…" He said silkily. "Remember that favour you owed me?"

Hermione's mouth dropped. "Malfoy, I — I can't…"

"You swore." Annoyance began to seep into his features.

"It has nothing to do with you!" She protested. "Why do you want to know anyways?"

"So you're going back on your word?" He asked, obviously not caring about her protests.

"Malfoy, it's not my secret to tell!" She cried, exasperated. How was she going to get herself out of this?

He merely raised an eyebrow. "Did you make an Unbreakable Vow? Is it a matter of your life or death?"

"No but — "

"Then there's nothing binding you!" He looked almost angry now, and Hermione recoiled.

"My honour is binding me! And it's not just that. Why must you be so difficult!"

"Difficult?" His eyebrows shot up angrily. "Didn't you swear on your honour as Gryffindor that you would hold up your side of the deal? Does that only apply to a select few?"

Hermione's throat twisted into knots. He sounded upset—no, more bitter, and it bothered her more than it should have.

"That's not fair," she whispered. "You can't just ask me to choose like that."

If she had been asked a year before, to pick between her loyalty to Dumbledore and her promise to Malfoy, she would have immediately chosen her headmaster. But now, she hesitated, and it unnerved her.

"I can't ask you to give me the same regard?" Malfoy said quietly, but before she could say anything the blazing fire reappeared in his eyes; there was something that snapped in his eyes as he looked at her. "Get out of my face, mudblood," he seethed.

Her heart shattered into a million pieces.

So it was back to mudblood again. The word itself didn't really hurt anymore, but he hadn't called her that since January. She risked looking in his eyes and saw … nothing. They were no longer swimming with emotion but flat and cold.

"Malfoy—"

"Get away from me." He snapped, not looking up at her from his parchment

For some odd reason, she felt like he had a right to be angry, and she couldn't gather enough anger or energy to snap back at him.

For a brief moment, she considered being in his position. She clamped her eyes shut and truly imagined. Was it possible that it wasn't the information itself that he wanted, but her trust? Such considerations would have originally been tossed out the window without another glance, but she just couldn't shake the thought away. She inwardly groaned. Did he feel stabbed in the back because she had offered him faith but wouldn't place her trust in him?

She snapped her eyes open and met his sharp gaze.

"Look…" She thought hard, trying to decide how to word her confession. "I have this task—researching really—to —"

"I don't want to hear it—" He snarled, his brow furrowing.

"No!" She slammed her fist on the table, sending vibrations through it. "I'm going to tell you because you asked me, and my word for you is just as strong as it is for anyone else! I just—" she stammered "—momentarily forgot. I'm sorry…"

The ice in his eyes cracked as they widened a fraction, but she could see the barriers he set around himself like an impenetrable wall.

"You have to understand," she continued, "that I don't think of you any less than I do for Harry and Ron. Since I made a deal with you… I will hold up my side just as I would have done if it were anyone else… And you're right, I do owe you that much." She took a deep breath. "I am sorry, really... if you want to know, I'll tell you."

Hermione didn't dare to meet his gaze, and settled for starting at her fist on the table. She unclenched it slowly, and placed her palm flat against the wood.

"I don't want to know," Malfoy finally replied sharply. Hermione's head shot up in surprise. "Whatever you're doing, just keep it to yourself."

She blinked back the suffocating emotions. Was she too late? Had she potentially messed up everything she had worked for in a few minutes?

"A-Are you angry?"

He crossed his arms and scowled. "Yes."

The terse reply pulled at her heart strings. "I'm sorr—"

"Stop with your sodding apologies!" he spat, throwing his arms up in the air.

"Sorry…" she mumbled, before her eyes widened. "Sorry! — I mean —"

"Just leave," he snapped, and his tone was final.

Damn it all. She shut her eyes and stood from her chair, recognizing the final tone in his voice. She had lost. "I am really sorry..." she breathed out.

He didn't look up.

Feeling dejected, she bit her lip hard and turned on her heel, walking away from the table. She stalked through the bookshelves, her feet taking her further and further away from Malfoy, until she was too far away to hear the crack of something break as it met with an angry fist, and the mutters of frustration that followed it.

Hermione spent the next two weeks biting the inside of her cheek and digging her nails into her palms until four small c-shaped marks decorated each hand. She mindlessly completed her homework, making sure to write exactly to the desired length. Her thoughts continuously drifted to Malfoy.

The moment his Charms class was over, he stalked over to the Slytherin dungeons with Crabbe and Goyle at his side without a word. Releasing a resigned sigh, she sat outside the hidden portrait, Disillusioned and wondering how she was going to save herself from this one.

She just didn't understand him. He had seemed so insistent on her telling him the truth, yet had rejected her when she offered to tell him the truth. Was he really just trying to test her trust in him? She couldn't tell. One week he was insulting her very existence, then the next week he seemed to be asking for her to regard him like everyone else. Hermione buried her face in her hands and sank to her knees, letting her robes pile on the cold floor. Was he possibly just playing with her? She shook her head, recalling those rare expressions that she didn't think he was capable of making. In fact, there were plenty of surprising moments where she was proved utterly wrong about his character.

A clog turned in her head.

Was it her problem? Was it her prejudices that were preventing her from making the next step?

She slowly raised her head.

All this time, it had been solidified in her mind that he was a spoiled brat and a shallow person with the facial expression capacity of a statue, that she had approached him like one. If she needed him to be open-minded, she needed to absolve her prejudice of Slytherins and Malfoy first. It wasn't that he didn't have 'good' parts of him, but the fact that she had not yet delved deep enough, and had taken his words for face value. The way he presented himself, the surface level parts of him that she had judged were only that — what he chose to show and just the tip of the iceberg.

Her chest burned. She was acting no better than what she had accused Malfoy of doing. Somehow, she herself had viewed Malfoy the way he looked at the world and her, and even his own value. She had forgotten that there were most definitely smaller, still genuine parts that made him not Malfoy, the pureblood Slytherin, but Draco. Just Draco.

No… she thought, slowly.

Draco Malfoy wasn't some one-dimensional archetype antagonist — he was a real-life breathing person, the main character of his own story, with a personal narrative and personality of his own.

Taking a moment to fully understand her revelation, she then mentally smacked herself again. The man was in Slytherin, he was subtle with his true feelings and thoughts. And she was sure growing up under the care of a cold man like Lucius Malfoy wasn't a complete walk through the park either.

Hermione palmed her forehead repeatedly and released a confused breath. This whole mission was overwhelming her in ways she hadn't thought possible.

Her spirits didn't get any better as she heard the news of Harry screaming and clutching his scar during Divination a week before the third task. She paced in the common room with Ron, waiting for him to come back. The second he slipped through the portrait door, she rammed him with questions until Ron clamped his hand over his face and demanded that she'd calm down.

After, Harry repeated his conversation with Professor Dumbledore, and she was shocked to hear about the trails regarding previous death eaters, including Karkaroff and Bagman in the Pensieve.

"And you're telling me Dumbledore still trusts Snape?" Ron asked sounding baffled. "I don't believe it."

"That's a surprise," she grumbled sardonically.

Both boys ignored her.

"I know, but he does," Harry assured.

"And he says You-Know-Who is getting stronger again?" Ron's voice weakened.

"Yes," Hermione answered this time, surprising both boys. Dumbledore had told her there was danger approaching when he gave her the Malfoy mission. He must have known this day would come. "Now come on—no more questions, Harry has to practice, the third task is next week!"

Ron just grumbled to himself, and Harry followed her out of the common room with a sigh.

Draco rubbed his eyes again, stifling a yawn as he worked through a gruelling five-foot essay on the various uses of venom in healing potions. Textbooks lay open on the table, extra parchment strewn about as he wrote. Raising his head, he glanced at the golden clock at the far end of the library and saw that it was already approaching curfew. With a sigh, he returned to his essay — and found a trail of ink across his parchment that had dripped from his quill.

Cursing, he crumpled up the ruined parchment, tossing it into the mouth of a stone dragon some yards away and watching with frustration as it burst into flames.

Grabbing another fresh sheet of parchment, he carefully dipped his quill into his ink pot and began scribbling across the page again. Two inches down, he paused, reread what he wrote, and shook his head, disposing of the parchment in the same fashion as he had the one before it. Closing his eyes, he let his quill fall to the table as he slumped down into his seat, revelling in the silence of the library.

It was the night before the third task, and thus, he was alone in the library.

He stared at the empty seat across from him, feeling an overwhelming wave of frustration pierce through his hazy fatigue.

The word had sailed right out of his mouth, as smoothly as always, yet the moment it had left his lips, a twinge of something unrecognizable had pierced his chest. It wasn't the fact that he had not said it in a while, but the deeply hurt look on Granger's face that kept on haunting him in his mind's eye. Her eyes especially seemed to stand out in his head… the way the brown orbs seemed to immediately lose their fighting spark, almost breaking down with disappointment as the slur came out of his mouth. That observation startled him just as much as her pained expression. And just as he thought this, he froze.

What was wrong with him? Why did he care anyway? Had he gone soft? Was he somehow letting her get under his skin?

Standing up so quickly that he almost knocked over his chair, he stuffed the books and papers into his bag and threw it over his shoulder.

As he exited the library and made his descent to the dungeons, he felt oddly ill at ease as he crept through the dimly-lit stone corridors.

"Draco?"

He spun around to see Snape looming over him, an intimidating eyebrow raised, but he immediately relaxed.

"Sir," he greeted in relief. Snape was one of the few professors he respected, but more than that, he had been someone akin to a distant uncle figure in his life growing up, having even been present at a few family functions. He was an extremely private man and often intimidating, but the knowledge that Snape was close with his father and had once even watched over him when he was a baby lessened his fearful image. It also didn't hurt that he often took the Slytherins' side and let them off easy.

"I trust that you are off to bed?" He asked in his familiar icy tone.

"Yes, sir," Draco replied.

Snape nodded approvingly. "Be careful in the future. I believe that the others will not be as lenient as I am with you."

With a final nod, Draco swept past him and headed back to the common room, feeling relatively more at ease than before.

The morning of the third task, the Great Hall was buzzing with chatter and excitement. Hermione speared her toast with her knife, barely glancing up as the Daily Prophet owl swooped in. She handed the owl a chunk of her break, dropped a knut in its carrier and quickly grabbed the newspaper. She scanned through the paper with distaste. There wasn't anything much of interest after Hermione had stopped Skeeter, but it didn't stop other writers to publish far-fetched speculations and reports on what they thought Harry was up to.

Mrs. Weasley and Bill made a surprise visit to watch Harry in the third task. The elder woman gave her a cold greeting, and she pursed her lips. No doubt, the Weasley matriarch had read Skeeter's articles. A second later, Harry cleared up the issue, confirming that she was definitely not his girlfriend, and she instantly thawed towards Hermione, giving her an apologetic smile which she returned with relief.

When night fell, there was a grand feast but she could tell Harry was more nervous than said. Dumbledore called the champions to the Quidditch pitch and she gave him a reassuring wave as he stood from his place and followed the other three champions out.

After all the food had been cleared, the Heads of each House came forward and led each table out of the Great Hall in a mannerly order. They climbed up the stairs of the stands and sat in the cold metal seats. Everyone around her was already roaring with cheers and shouts of support. She caught a flash of white-blonde hair a few rows behind her when she was turning around to look for Ginny, and grey eyes met with brown.

Hermione thought back to the last conversation she had with Malfoy and wasn't surprised to see him staring at her with a cold expression on his face. He looked rather out of place as Crabbe and Goyle hooted and jeered beside him.

Biting her lip, she spun around to face the front, forcing herself to focus on Harry.

The champions came forward, Harry and Cedric at the front. She waved at him as he spotted them and beamed. Bagman announced the current situation and with a loud bang, both of Hogwarts' champions darted into the opening of the maze.

Hermione clutched her hands together and breathed. He would be all right. Harry would make it. A few minutes later, the whistle blew a second time, allowing Viktor to run in, and sometime after that, Fleur dashed in the maze.

Twenty minutes into the task, everything began spiralling out of control.

An ear-shattering scream pierced the night.

Hermione jumped, feeling her stomach twist into knots. It was definitely Fleur. Beauxbatons' students were muttering amongst themselves, a few sporting worried expressions.

Ten minutes after, there was another scream.

She clenched her hands—it was definitely male, and it sounded like the most agonizing sound she had heard.

After a few moments, red sparks shot into the air, twining together and and leaping high above them.

A chill went down her spine as everyone started chattering at once, trying to figure out which male champion had given up. She rocked back and forth in her seat, assuring herself that the scream didn't sound like Harry's, but she wasn't feeling convinced.

A moment later, from the side of the maze, she saw McGonagall emerge, levitating a body on a white cot. She took a sharp breath as she recognized the form lying utterly motionless.

Viktor.

"Oh my god," she whispered, bringing her hand to her mouth in shock.

Durmstrang exploded with roars and angry outburst, some clutching their faces while others stood up pointing at Viktor in defeat. Her professor looked incredibly grim as she transferred him to the mediwitches on duty.

Her stomach lurched as she saw him being taken away. Honestly, she didn't expect him to be the first champion out, but if she was right, the Bulgarian looked stunned. That meant either he had sent the sparks before being attacked by another champion, or someone else had shot the rescue signal after stunning him. She bit the inside of her cheek in worry. She couldn't imagine any of the other champions attacking so shamelessly, but there wasn't any other reasonable explanation.

An hour passed by and Hermione was nearly losing her mind. She wasn't the only one either. There were hushed murmurs throughout the crowd, and even the judges looked a bit worried. For some reason, Karkaroff had bolted from his seat a half-hour ago, and never returned. An unconscious Fleur had been retrieved sometime later, but Harry and Cedric were still nowhere in sight.

Crack!

Hermione screamed and immediately stood.

Harry was on the ground with Cedric, the Triwizard Cup tossed to the side.

Her mind couldn't process what she was seeing, but all she knew was that Cedric was motionless and Harry was at his side wracked with sobs.

The crowd burst into noise, but it was far from cheers.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dumbledore rush forward with the Minster of Magic right behind him.

Dead, she saw his lips form the words, his eyes wide. The boy is dead.

Hermione's lungs filled with ice as screams and gasps filled the night air.

No way… there was no way…

"He's back!" She heard Harry scream over the roars of the crowd. "Voldemort's back!"

The world seemed to stop as he uttered these words.

She stood, paralyzed with dread and fear as she watched the professors guide Harry away. Noise swirled all around her, muffled by her own disbelieving mind… this night would surely change her best friend forever.

"Hermione!"

All she could do was stare. The pandemonium did not die down, nor did the screaming of the people surrounding her.

"Hermione!"

Time seemed to resume and she felt herself being shaken, staring into the eyes of Ron, his face frantic.

"C'mon, Hermione, we have to go,"

Nodding numbly, she let him grab her wrist as they turned and quickly headed back to the castle.

As soon as the common room door shut behind them, his fellow group of Slytherins turned and looked at him, some eyes wide with fear while others in trepidation. But all of them were looking expectantly towards him, waiting for answers.

"What's going on?" Crabbe spoke first, his wide face full of confusion.

"Is it true that he's back?" Pansy whispered, her eyes wide. Draco thought he could make out a glimmer of excitement in them, and he clenched his jaw. This was the moment where he needed to exercise his leadership, but he was feeling the least sure he had ever been in his life.

"I don't know," he muttered, pacing back and forth in front of the fire place. Usually the sight of Potter in tears would have brought joy to his heart but there was something chilling in the air tonight.

Something undeniable.

"The Diggory's bloke actually dead," Theo said, his eyes wide with fear.

Draco glanced at the brown-haired wizard. Like himself, Theo's father was one of the Dark Lord's servants, and no doubt their lives would change if he was truly back. He could feel his stomach contracting as he continued to pace the length of the carpet, tuning out the hushed voices around him.

He hadn't particularly cared about the Hufflepuff, Diggory, but the fact that he was actually… dead made his stomach churn.

Potter's words flashed in his mind.

He's back! Voldemort's back!

His heart raced in his chest. For his whole life, the Dark Lord's return had been a distant reality, one that he had grown up preparing for by honouring his ways and hoping in private for his return.

If he truly had come back, then that would mean the Malfoys would soon be restored to their former glory.

Yes, he told himself firmly. There was cause to rejoice, for the time had come at last.

But just as he opened his mouth to reassure the group, a small flicker of doubt sparked in him as he realized that from now on, things would change.

Something stirred deep within him, something he had not felt in a long time.

Fear.

Hermione stared, wide-eyed at the scene in front of her, frustration coursing through her veins.

It was the morning after the third task; Hermione had returned to the Hospital with Ron, quietly conversing with Mrs. Weasley and Bill when the Minister of Magic burst into the room demanding for Dumbledore. She had her fair share of respect for the Minister of Magic, but after his abrupt arrival and abuse of power by bringing a bloody Dementor into the school, she didn't know if she could stand to be in the same room as him any longer. McGonagall had been absolutely furious, and she could tell Dumbledore was also discontent that the Minister had practically killed their witness.

"Crouch was a crazy murderer!" Fudge bellowed, unwilling to back down on his argument with the Headmaster. "He thought he was taking orders from You-Know-Who the entire time! The man was quite obviously touched in the head!"

Hermione had an overwhelming desire to thump her head on the wall.

"He was under the direct orders of Voldemort, Cornelius," Dumbledore said sternly. "As I have told you before, Severus, Minerva and I have all heard him confess his deeds under Veritaserum—including his escape from Azkaban. Lord Voldemort has returned."

Fudge looked as if Dumbledore had slapped him. "You-Know-Who has returned, you say? T-that's… impossible!"

"I have heard both his account and Harry's side of the story as well," the headmaster answered. "He is back."

"Impossible," Fudge repeated. "You're going to take the word of a complete lunatic and a 14-year-old boy?"

"I know what I saw!" Harry suddenly inputted, startling everyone in the room but Dumbledore. "Voldemort is back and—"

"You don't know anything boy!" the Minister waved a hand, cringing at the name.

"I can tell you the death eaters that were there!" Harry raged. "Lucius Malfoy, Avery, Macnair, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle—"

"Cleared!" he cut Harry off again. "Those men have been perfectly cleared and are now working to better support the Ministry! You are simply naming those accused thirteen years ago—"

Hermione's throat seemed to collapse. She drowned out Fudge's voice after Harry had pinned Lucius Malfoy. She believed Harry's words, which only meant two things. Voldemort had indeed returned, and Lucius Malfoy was back in the madman's service. Dumbledore was right, she realized, her whole body becoming numb. She didn't have a lot of time at all to help Draco. A fist of anxiety closed around her heart. What was this terrible timing? If his father went back, she had no doubt in her mind that the son would also bend to his will. She couldn't have that.

"—You must remove the dementors from Azkaban," Dumbledore demanded. "They will not follow the ministry any longer with Voldemort's return."

"If he returned that is!" Fudge turned purple. "And I refuse to believe that is true based on the confessions of a lunatic and Potter—"

The minister jabbed a finger at Harry who was fuming and clutching at his sheets, his knuckles white.

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to grow cold. "If you continue to deny this fact, then it appears we will have to part ways. You may hold onto your position for as long as you try, but I will act as I see fit."

"Dumbledore you cannot possible mean such nonsense!" the man took a sharp breath. "For You-Know-Who to be back… No… it's complete nonsense."

It wasn't until Snape strode forward and tore back his sleeve did Hermione snap back into the conversation. She saw the Dark Mark tattooed on her professor's forearm, a black skull and snake coiling as if it was alive.

For a fleeting second, she saw Draco in place of Snape, presenting his arm for everyone to see. His grey eyes flickered towards her, than disappeared, melting back into Snape's black orbs.

Fudge wouldn't have any of it. He shook his head, dropped off the money for Harry and scurried out of the Hospital Wing muttering about everyone going mad.

Hermione wished she could have listened to Dumbledore's words after that. But all she could see was Draco standing in front of her as if he was actually there, the Mark burned into his pale skin. She choked.

"—Miss Granger?" Dumbledore's voice cut through her thoughts.

She refocused her eyes to see Sirius and Snape rushing out the room, both looking grim. Everyone else was crowding around Harry with similar expressions. She snapped her head towards her headmaster who was looking at her with an unreadable look.

He lowered his voice so only she could hear. "Go to the Great Hall. Do not be seen."

With that, the old wizard bid everyone else farewell and left the room with a swish of his robes. She could feel the color drain from her face, but kept her composure.

"Hermione?" Ron asked quietly, turning around. "What did Dumbledore want?"

She swallowed. "Just said to take care of Harry—I'm going out for a bit, be back soon."

Ron gave her a confused stare as she darted out of the Hospital Wing before he could question her.

The door slid closed with an echoing slam, and Hermione bolted from the hallway.

With shaking hands, she pulled out her wand and cast the Disillusionment charm on herself, making sure no one was around.

But what was Draco doing? She was sure Dumbledore had sent her here for a reason. How would she find him anyway? Deciding to start walking around instead of standing there, Hermione began darting through the empty hallways.

After about fifteen minutes of stealthily running around, she began to lose hope. Where would he be?

As if the heavens heard her pleas, a familiar mop of blond hair turned the corner of the hallway she was in. For a moment, all she could see was his figure standing in front of her in the Hospital Wing with the Dark Mark on his forearm. She shook her head and expelled the image from her mind.

Draco looked more stoic than usual. His eyes were set in a determined slant, his lips pulled into a thin line and a definite purpose in his stride. She pressed herself against the wall and clamped her mouth, wondering how she was going to approach him. The moment he walked past her, he suddenly stopped and turned his head. His dark expression broke slightly as his eyebrows furrowed as he looked in her direction almost questioningly.

Hermione didn't dare breathe. Was her charm slipping? No, that was impossible. She had perfected the spell after using it so much. And she was sure she hadn't made a single sound.

The blonde sighed quietly and ran his hand through his hair, turning from her. He continued to walk, his face settling back into a frown. She followed after him, keeping a safe distance away in case he decided to turn around again.

Draco lengthened his strides, leaving through the Clock Tower and began walking towards the large wooden bridge. Something inside her told her to stop him. The Stone Circle was at the end of the long bridge, but gut instinct told her that she should not let him get there.

She tapped her wand and released the charm. Hermione had no idea what she was going to say, but she had to try something. She darted after him, making sure no one else was in sight and called out to him.

"Malfoy!" she yelled.

He stopped cold in his tracks and spun his head around with a snap. His eyes widened with surprise as if he couldn't believe she was actually there, then settled into a scowl.

"Granger? What are you—"

"I need to tell you something!" she said breathlessly, finally catching up to him.

He narrowed his eyes. "Not now, my father is waiting for me."

Her brain clicked. This was it. Dumbledore must have somehow known about their meeting and sent her before they could talk. Harry saw Lucius Malfoy at the Death Eater gathering. He must have come to inform Draco about it, and no doubt kill everything she had ever built with him the past year, which wasn't even much.

"He's back," she said breathlessly. "V-Voldemort's back."

Draco's grey eyes snapped to hers, bewilderment clear in his gaze.

"What are you—"

"I'm so sorry about before," she spluttered, feeling a rush of emotions. "I was wrong. Honestly, you have every right to be mad at me. But I know now, you're not that like that, Malfoy. I just couldn't see it before, but you have to understand, I do trust you, which is why I'm saying this—but—I just—"

"Granger, stop," he demanded, but the stiffness in his shoulders seemed to ease, even just slightly. He looked at her in the eye without a trace of a smirk or sneer on his face. "Stop blabbering and get your head on straight."

"I'm sorry—"

"And stop apologizing!" He yelled a bit more forcefully. "Merlin, is that all you can say?"

Hermione clamped her mouth shut and swallowed painfully. She took a huge breath and unclenched her fingers.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked quietly.

He didn't answer, staring at her with stormy grey eyes.

"Then… do you hate me?" she bit her lip at his silence, and took another breath. "Because I don't hate you."

She watched his face intently. His grey eyes regarded her carefully, but there was no malice in his gaze.

"What do you want, Granger?" he finally asked, folding his arms and shifting his weight to his right leg.

She released her lip. "Nothing. Not everything has to be an exchange. I just…"

What would she say? I want to see you make better choices in life? You're about to walk down a path you'll regret? She inwardly snorted.

"Just what?" he leaned forward, brow furrowing.

"Look, I… I know we're not… we're not friends, but I still care," she explained. "I mean it. And it's not care out of pity—a-and I know that I don't know much about you but I-I just want to understand you. I feel like… we're really not so different, regardless of blood status o-or House."

He took a sharp breath. "We're as different as night and day, Granger, there's no changing that no matter how much you want to understand."

"You're right," she blurted out. "You're right that some things we can't change, but I'm not asking for that. All I'm asking for is a chance — just one chance for you to look beyond those irreversible qualities. You'll always be a pureblood and I will always be a muggle-born, but there's more to us than that… so much more… please…"

Draco's jaw clenched. "You're out of your mind, Granger." But he looked hesitant. She could see his eyes flicker with confusion. He released a quiet exhale and turned around. "I don't have time for this. My father is waiting."

Hermione's throat tightened. She dashed after him into the covered bridge, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

"Malfoy, give it some thought, please," she urged, nearly jogging next to him. "Or at least keep it in mind as you talk to your father."

He growled. "You act like you know what my father will say to me."

I bet I have a better understanding than you think.

She sighed. "I don't know. I have a good guess, but will you consider—"

"There's nothing to consider," he retorted swiftly. They were crossing the halfway point of the bridge now.

"There is!" She shouted and jumped in front of him, arms out to the side. He stopped abruptly, glaring at her.

"Move," he demanded.

"No," she answered, unwavering in her decision. Her chest burned with resolution as she met his storming eyes squarely. "Look, you're going to have to cut me down and knock me out if you want me to move. I won't fight back. And if you do… I'll drop this… I won't ask you to consider anything anymore."

His eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat.

She was betting everything. If he could find the will to attack her when she was unarmed and unwilling to fight back, then everything she believed about him would have been proved wrong. She wanted to trust that he wouldn't do it. She glanced at him, silently pleading with her eyes.

Draco's mouth curved into a frustrated snarl and he barked out a mocking laugh that cut through the air. "I see what you're doing here, Granger. You think I won't attack you? I'm not a bloody saint—"

He pulled out his wand from his robes and pointed it at her chest. Hermione's heart constricted, but she didn't say a word. This was it. He could attack her at any moment. A small part of her still believed he wouldn't.

For what seemed like an eternity, they just stared at each other. Her arms were shaking, screaming for her to set them down, but she held. She wasn't going to give in. Draco still had his arm up as well, his wand unmoving but still pointed at her.

He was giving her that look again, but this time, he seemed to be struggling immensely.

Something gave, and his expression hardened.

"Incarcerous!"

Thick ropes conjured and wrapped themselves around her, yanking her arms back to her side. Hermione didn't even struggle as she fell to the side and toppled onto the wooden floor.

He had attacked her, and she squeezed her eyes shut as waves of disappointment crashed down on her.

Draco dashed around her and sprinted across the rest of the bridge, his footsteps sending tremors across the wood and onto her face. When she could no longer hear or feel the weight of his steps on the bridge, Hermione let out a strangled breath.

For a while, she simply lay in the same position not sure how to proceed. She felt as if he had plucked out her heart and trampled on it, crushing any hope she had to pieces. She didn't even have the mental strength to counter the spell. Her mind swirled painfully as she tried to think of every conversation they had through the course of the year—now in shambles. But could she truly give up on him? The logical side of her screamed affirmative, but there was a tiny piece of her…

After her shoulder began to throb from her uncomfortable position, she shifted her weight and fell flat on her back with a loud thump. To her shock, the ropes seemed to follow her movement. She craned her neck to see the offending material around her and finally noticed how loose it was. If she wanted to, she was sure she could move her arm to retrieve her wand and reverse the spell.

Why had he done that? She highly doubted his spell work was diminishing. Was he trying to tell her to undo the spell and leave him? Her heart thunder loudly in her chest. In all honesty, the ropes were unexpected; she had predicted a terrible curse of some sort, or at least a stunner. She racked her head for possible theories and speculations, replaying their conversation in her head, not even bothering to undo the ropes.

Yes, she had cornered him but she had also given him the perfect chance to hex her and stop her advancements for good. Hermione insisted that he cut her down and knock her out as his answer, but he had bound her instead, and quite loosely at that. She clamped her eyes shut in thought. Draco was a Slytherin; he was subtle with his feelings.

Something… it had to mean something. She was sure if he didn't want to give her idea any consideration at all, he would have cursed her on the spot without the eternity of hesitation.

She wanted to believe it. Draco was giving it a chance. He certainly had a nasty way of agreeing with her, but it was far better than being stunned and left on the bridge. Her mind drifted back to the ropes. Was he testing her as well? Had he intentionally left the bindings loose so she could counter the spell and storm off? He was asking her to choose again. She could either give up on him as she insisted she'd do if he attacked her, or stay where she was.

Hermione grumbled as her head throbbed painfully. This was simply too much. She was glad the entire school was mourning over the events of last night's task; no one would find her lying on the floor of the covered bridge, bound in ropes.

So she decided to stay.

For the next hour or so, Hermione stayed flat on her back alternating between thinking of what she would say to Draco and cursing him at the same time. Just as she finished cursing his blasted perfect hair, she felt someone's footsteps vibrate through the wood, hitting the back of her head.

After a few moments, the vibrations increased, becoming increasingly stronger and faster. What in Merlin's name—was he running a marathon? The next second, Draco's face appeared above hers, still upside down as she was staring at him from the floor. His breathing was slightly labored, eyebrows twisted in shock, and his eyes wide.

"About time!" She shouted first. "Honestly... what was there to talk about for so long?"

Draco blinked three times before his face settled into a look of

disbelief. "Why the hell are you still here?"

"Because I happen to like lying on hard wooden floors," she replied sarcastically. "I was waiting for you, you dolt!"

"Wha—"

"Don't think I've given up," she stared into his eyes. She couldn't see them well in the dark. "You didn't give me a proper answer anyway."

Draco pressed his lips together into a firm line, slowly pulling his wand out from his robes.

The brief second that followed was the longest she had ever felt in her life.

"Fine," he uttered, his eyebrows furrowed. The ropes disappeared with a wave of his wand and he scowled down at her as he tucked his wand away. "There's my bloody answer. Happy?"

For a moment, she couldn't breathe, her heart rattling loudly in her ribcage.

She couldn't believe it. He had actually agreed.

A wave of relief washed over her and her body instantly relaxed as she let out an audible groan of relief. She felt her lips break into a grin. Her shoulders seemed ten times lighter.

"Very," she croaked. "Thank you, Malfoy. Really."

She sat up slowly from her position, brushing off all the dust and dirt in her hair. With a flick of her wand, she used the scouring charm to vanish the rest of the mess from her robes.

Draco was watching her every move with sharp eyes. "Aren't you going to ask me about my father?"

She turned to him. "I don't see the need. Besides, I wasn't lying when I said I already had a good guess of what he wanted to tell you."

His expression darkened. "I see. So the Dark Lord has returned, and Potter really escaped from him last night."

"The Minister doesn't believe it though. He thinks that it's all some kind of power play that Dumbledore's concocted to overthrow him." She huffed, her annoyance returning at the memory of Fudge spitting and seething in the Hospital Wing.

"Well, his insecurities aren't exactly unfounded."

Hermione couldn't disagree.

"Well then, I suppose you're going to try and fight him?" Draco scoffed lightly.

She bit the inside of her lip, deciding to answer Draco's question first. "I'm Muggle-born, he'll come for me either way since I'm pretty much everything he and his followers hate. I might as well fight because I want to, instead of because I don't have a choice."

The corner of his lips pulled down. "Of course, you Gryffindors and your hero complex…"

She let out a huff. "That is such a stereotypical thing to say. There's nothing wrong with wanting to do the right thing, you know."

He rolled his eyes. "Not if you're being stupidly reckless and putting your life at risk."

"Maybe we think that our lives are worth risking for some things," she said quietly.

He shook his head slightly, his lip curled, but didn't say anything.

After a few moments, she spoke again. "Well then, who are you going to fight?"

He crossed his arms, pausing. "I don't know."

Hermione quieted after that. At least he didn't follow after his father immediately. She had an inkling that months ago, his response would be an immediate yes.

But where would she take this from here? In all honesty, she never thought she could get him to give her a chance.

They walked out of the bridge in silence and slipped back into the Clock Tower. Luckily, the halls were empty and as she glanced at her watch, reading a quarter past twelve, she decided to go back to the Hospital wing and talk to Harry and Ron.

"Where are you going?" Draco's voice cut through, as she turned right.

She glanced back. "Hospital Wing. Harry was injured."

Something flashed through his eyes at the mention of Harry's name, but it was gone in an instant.

"Well, I'll see you around then," she breathed.

Without saying goodbye, he turned on his heel and continued to walk down the hall and out of sight.

She didn't move until the sound of his footsteps faded away. Slumping down at the bottom of the spiral staircase, she sighed. She should be happier; after all he had agreed to give it a chance… to give her a chance, but she wasn't sure what to do know.

Would it be enough?

As she sat, the image of Draco standing before her with the Mark on his arm appeared again. She shook her head furiously, trying to dismiss the thought. Hermione didn't know where the feeling came from, but it was overpowering everything else, making her hands itch. It was more than just a task now.

She couldn't let that happen to him. She just couldn't.

As Draco headed back towards the common room, he was barely aware of his surroundings. Too many things were happening all in one night, and his mind was barely cooperating with him.

Seeing his father had grounded him, had almost wiped away any thoughts of Granger and her bothersome ideologies by reminding him of who he was. Of his place.

Even now, he saw the image of his father with glittering, excited eyes, telling him that the Dark Lord had been resurrected by one of his most loyal servants, and was regaining his strength somewhere out there before he made his return to Wizarding England.

Yes, seeing his father had grounded him, reminded him of his standing and his pride, but the problem was that he had almost wiped away Granger from his mind…

Almost.

But not quite.

He knew this when Lucius reminded him that with the Dark Lord's return, the Malfoys would be forgiven and return to their former glory. He had waited for these words to be uttered his whole life, had hoped for years that he would return and ruin Potter and purify the Wizarding World, and when they were said to him, underneath the satisfaction and inexplicable relief was a small tinge of uncertainty.

And now… somehow, he had just gotten himself more entangled with Granger.

Blast. He inhaled a deep breath and blew out slowly.

This was all her fault… Talking to Granger had left him uneasy and frustrated, and the fact alone that he was not as knowing as he had been before sickened his conscience.

Yet, oddly, it was the only thing that seemed like a stable constant in his life right now, a viable option he could count on to be there. Everything was happening too fast, changing, and he was well aware that his confidence wasn't coming as easily as before. The only thing he was sure about, was that he needed to know more.

He needed more answers.

Perhaps that was the reason why he had agreed to Granger's request.

All I'm asking for is a chance — just one chance for you to look beyond those irreversible qualities. You'll always be a pureblood and I will always be a Muggle-born, but there's more to us than that…please…

And then she had waited for him, looking up at him with bright, pleading eyes full of emotion that somehow, weakened his resolve.

She was the one factor in the equation that had changed everything.

Who are you going to fight?

I don't know.

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

"Damn it," he growled aloud, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

He didn't even know what exactly her request entailed, but he was certain that he had done something irreversible.

He just hoped that he wouldn't regret it.

When he stepped into the common room once again, five pairs of eyes were trained on him.

"So?" Theo asked. Standing near the fireplace, his face illuminated by the glow of the fire, Draco could see the trepidation in his eyes.

For a moment, there was dead silence.

"It's true," he said, finally. "The Dark Lord has returned."


	9. The Beginning of the End

CHAPTER NINE

**The Beginning of the End**

The rest of June slipped by quickly. Harry had recovered and was still withdrawn from the events prior, no doubt traumatized by what he had seen. Ron was also constantly by his side, warding off nosy students who were buzzing with curiosity and doubt.

Dumbledore had announced at dinner the unfortunate death of Cedric Diggory. His final words still rang in Hermione's ears, and her eyes had burned as his chilling words went straight to the heart.

_I say to you all, once again — in the light of Lord Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open. It is my belief — and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken — that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall may have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. A week ago, a student was taken from our midst._

_Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort._

_Remember Cedric Diggory._

Hermione's throat closed up when Dumbledore finished his speech and she felt an ache in her chest. She had seen Cho Chang, face blotchy and red, but it was the fragile look in her eyes that had shook her the most. The whole Hufflepuff table had dissolved into tears and Hermione felt deep sorrow in her heart. Though she hadn't been close with Cedric, the mere thought of one of her close friends dying at the hands of Voldemort brought tears to her eyes, and she felt great sympathy for the friends and family who suffered the loss. For the first time, she felt a deep stab of pure hatred for Voldemort. It was the first time she had truly experienced the aftermath of Voldemort's actions striking so close to home, and she suspected, not the last.

No… far from the last.

Her gaze drifted to the Slytherin table. Most of them had unreadable, vague expressions. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Crabbe and Goyle, who looked less like they were mourning a classmate's death and more like they were quietly discussing a Quidditch match. She then saw Malfoy sitting next to Nott and Zabini, whose faces looked stony. His lips were set into a grim line, his grey eyes downcast.

To top things off, they no longer had a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

To the trio's extreme shock, Moody had turned out to be Barty Crouch Jr. under the guise of Polyjuice Potion, so Thursday afternoons became free periods. The real had Moody returned, but with only a few days left in the term and his constant — no, not vigilance — stiffness, Dumbledore excused him from teaching.

This would be the last Wednesday of the term, thus the last time she would be able to speak to Draco until the start of their fifth year. The thought left an odd ache in her heart, and she felt more urgent than ever, considering how things were at the moment. A flash of Draco releasing the ropes binding her came to mind, and she felt more encouraged. He could only do as much as he wanted to, and if he had agreed to give it a chance, she was sure she was already halfway there.

After the end of History of Magic, she cast the Disillusionment charm on herself and walked over to Draco's Charms class, wondering where he would head today. It would be the last free period of the year so she wouldn't have been surprised if he spent it in the Slytherin dungeons. There would be no need to go to the library after all.

After ten minutes of waiting, the door clanked open to reveal the fourth year Slytherin and Ravenclaw students bustling out of their last charms class.

Draco exited the class with Crabbe and Goyle at his side as usual. Upon seeing him, a flood of hope and anxiety rushed through her chest. It was as if his promise had changed the dynamic between them, and maybe it was foolish to think so, but for the first time since she had known him since they were eleven, she felt a warm recognition. To her complete surprise, he dismissed the two, including Pansy Parkinson's feeble attempts to get him to go back to the dungeons.

Hermione's heart raced. He didn't separate with his gang unless he was going to the Quidditch pitch to fly, or he was headed to the library. The pitch was still covered in twenty-foot hedges from the third task, which could only mean he was headed to the library.

He began to walk right past her, but just like the day before, he abruptly stopped and turned his head in her direction. Hermione held her breath and leaned against the wall, wondering how the hell he was doing that. Was it some sort of coincidence? Did he have a keen sixth sense that could detect a person's presence? She was sure her charm wasn't slipping.

The blond Slytherin sighed through his nose and snapped his head back, resuming his walk. She released a tight breath and followed after him. Sure enough, he slipped through the library doors and went straight back into his usual seat by the large window.

Hermione released the charm and stored her wand away. Now what? Normally she had some sort of plan, but she honestly had expected to sit outside the hidden portrait to the dungeons today.

A sudden idea popped in her head as she passed by the Muggle Study section. Holding her breath, she ran her fingers through the spines of each book, glancing at the ones she already saw Draco take. She wondered if Draco had ever finished reading the two books she had caught him browsing. She grabbed a thick text entitled Muggle World Wars cracked the cover open, skimming through its contents. Much to her admiration, the content was accurate and unbiased.

Feeling eager, she turned and crashed into someone's chest with a surprised 'oomph'. She caught the book before it fell, and her other hand flew to her sore nose massaging it and grumbling, but not before she caught a whiff of something familiar.

"Again, Granger? You don't have eyes for decoration, you know."

Her head shot up at his voice, coming face to face with no other than Draco. He was looking at her with a mildly curious expression, a single eyebrow arched.

"Hello to you too, Malfoy," she greeted, still rubbing her nose. "It's a good thing you're here—this is for you."

She extended the book towards him, which he looked down at with suspicion.

"What is it?" He asked frowning, still not taking the book from her.

"It's a step to understanding," she said, lightly. "I think it'll be a good approach to understanding."

There was a short pause as he slowly took the text from her hand and looked at it with disdain. "You want me to read about Muggle violence? I already know what barbaric—"

"Not the violence," she corrected. "I'm talking about the means. Just because they don't have magic doesn't mean they aren't capable of destruction and war. In fact, I'd place my bet on a muggle victory if we ever went on a full-blown war with them."

That was a bit of a reach, but Hermione gave him a smug smile to cover it up. "Plus, you said you'd give it a chance, remember?"

At that, his cool expression seemed to crack a little bit. "Fine," he growled lowly after a few seconds hesitation. "But if I'm going to read this, then you're going to read a book of my choice as well."

"Fine by me," she declared.

Following his sudden turn, she walked after him as he swerved through the shelves. She noted that he did so with ease, without looking at the signs on the shelves that directed lost students. There was only one other person she knew who was as familiar with the map of the library; her. After a few turns, Draco stopped at one of the older looking shelves and pulled out a thick book that was clearly bigger than her head. He handed the text to her, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

Hermione grabbed the book with both hands, rolling her eyes at the title: The Greatest Wizards of the Era 9th Edition.

"You're just as predictable as I am," she said, "but I'll read it," she confirmed after he rolled his eyes, reminding herself that she needed to take a step towards him if she wanted him to do the same.

She stuffed the book under her arm and retraced her steps back to his empty table. He didn't say a word as she sat down on the free chair, and plopped the book open on her lap.

Hermione glazed through the table of contents, pursing her lips when she realized she had over five hundred pages to go through. Inwardly groaning, she decided she might as well give it a shot if he was in the same position as her.

After an hour of reading through multiple wizards of each century, she was surprised to find information she clearly hadn't known beforehand.

She frowned slightly. She supposed she could see why purebloods were so adamant about preserving wizard culture and tradition. There were certainly many amazing feats that deserved preservation, and long family lines that produced inventors of spells, potions masters and even alchemists. There was a lengthy explanation on the origins of magic she was finding absolute fascination in, when Draco's voice broke through the silence.

"What is this rubbish, Granger?"

She reluctantly tore herself away from the text and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"From the years 1933 to 1945, approximately 11 million people in Europe were killed in what we now know as The Holocaust," he read off the page quickly, before looking up at her with evident suspicion in his gaze. "There must be some inaccuracy here; one man can't simply commit all those murders in his lifetime without magic."

Hermione's heart beat faster. "It's accurate, Malfoy. And it wasn't just one man. He had coaxed millions into following him. There were thousands of concentration camps set up that killed a mass number of people at once through poisonous gas, shooting, etc. Muggle technology and scientific discovery were blooming back in those times, and have been ever since."

"How the hell would he convince all those people into murder? Unless muggles are really barbaric creatures without sense—"

Her eye twitched. "No, their leader started out as an influential speaker. He was highly manipulative and had incredible persuasion skills. He deemed those of Jewish descent to be inferior and decided to wipe them all off the face of the planet." She paused, letting the information sink in. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

Draco scoffed. "See here, Granger. You can't go comparing us to mad muggles like him."

"Why not? And I'm talking about ideology here, not whether they have magical blood or not," she retorted. "What is blood supremacy to you then? What makes You-Know-Who's cause different from Adolf Hitler's?"

He grimaced. "It's called facts. It's always been that way. Purebloods have been around since the beginning until muggles started to invade our society and hunt for us—it's only logical that we get to hate them back. This muggle lunatic on the other hand is just killing his own kind out of a sudden whim! His reasons are next to pathetic."

"His reasons were very similar to the Dark Lord's." Hermione said quietly, but as he opened his mouth to protest, she quickly continued. "Fine. Just look at the fundamentals then. Do you think it's okay for a group of people to cause harm to others because they're different?"

"Granger, this is what you don't get," he shook his head. "This isn't all about difference or inferiority. It's the fact that muggles are a threat to our society and it's about time something was done about it. "

"I just don't see how they are a threat," she said. "It's not like we're oppressed or it's particularly difficult to live separately and secretly from the Muggle word. We have the means to be comfortable, so why can't everything continue the way it is?"

"It's more than that, Granger. It's about restoring the Wizarding World to its rightful place and order. It's something you can only understand if you've lived your whole life in our world."

Hermione pursed her lips. As much as she wanted to dive into a full-on debate, this wasn't the time or the place. She bit back her retorts and leaned back into her chair. She had unknowingly sat straighter and leaned across the table as if she was ready to engage in a word battle.

"I see," she finally breathed.

She needed to stop doing that—thinking she was absolutely correct and knowledgeable about everything. Hermione treasured her ability to think above anything else, but she also knew it was her fatal flaw. In order for her and Draco to come to a decent understanding, she needed to hear him out and not always contradict him.

He huffed quietly and went back to his book when it was clear that she was reading again as well. She half-expected some kind of snarky taunt from him, but he remained silent.

Twenty minutes after another round of silent reading, Draco broke the silence again.

"Granger, how do atomic bombs work?" he asked, keeping his eyes lowered.

She glanced up from her page, feeling proud that she was nearly halfway through the book already. She racked her brain for the information she had read two years ago in a muggle textbook.

"There's a branch of muggle developed physical science called

Chemistry—it's technically a division of Alchemy but unrelated to magic, " She noticed a glint of recognition in his eyes, but since he still didn't know that she was aware of his research session a few weeks ago, she continued without a hitch. "Basically, it's the study of matter by atoms, which is the basic unit of a chemical element. Muggle scientists can take those properties and create a split in the atomic nuclei, which is at the center of an atom, and force massive amounts of energy to explode in a given area. They're essentially weapons of mass destruction."

"And they were used in war," he finished quietly.

She tilted her head to the side. "Are you reading on World War II?"

He nodded. "So you're telling me, that muggles have made these massive bombs that can be dropped and wipe out thousands of people in a single setting."

"That's correct," she replied, watching his expression closely. "Like I said, Muggles may not have magic, but their advancements in technology are quite amazing. They're perfecting the skill-sets they were given, just like we are."

Draco's face settled in an unreadable expression. He looked skeptical, but at the same time, shocked; she just couldn't tell.

It took Hermione two more hours to completely finish reading her book from cover to cover. It appeared that Draco had finished his text an hour earlier, but he had stayed quiet in his chair, it had taken her three glances before she realized he was done. She shut the book with a quiet snap and eyed her watch, gasping and standing from her seat.

Cripes! She had been with him for nearly four hours!

Draco looked startled, but simply raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Hermione was still staring at her wristwatch as if it was lying to her. How did she lose track of the time? And with Draco out of all people? Shaking her head, she returned her attention to Draco.

"I was supposed to meet Harry and Ron for dinner," she explained. "But it looks like I'm two hours over."

"They'll survive."

She then realized that he had not left either. Her eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you leave? Aren't you hungry?"

"Hardly," he replied, his face stony.

She continued to frown at him. He was definitely lying; the stubborn guy just didn't want to admit it. She felt a sudden warmth in her chest that he had stayed but it was quickly penetrated by a stab of guilt, even though it wasn't entirely her fault.

"Well, I'm starving," she announced, realizing that it was the only way that he would eat. "Let's go eat."

"Granger, dinner's over—"

Not waiting for his approval, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him out of his seat. With a wave of her wand, the two books went flying to their rightful place.

"I never said to the Great Hall," she smiled mischievously, still dragging him along. "We're going to the kitchen."

"Kitchen?" he repeated in disbelief.

Not bothering to reply, she towed him across the hall, cutting corners and flying down stairwells. When they arrived on the floor right under the Great Hall, she realized that she was holding Draco's wrist. He glared at her and she felt the heat rise to her face. With a quick 'sorry', she dropped his hand and reached up to the large painting on the wall to tickle the pear. The green fruit giggled and transformed into a doorknob for her to take. She pulled the painting door open and waved at him to follow her.

A few seconds after she had walked in, elves began to crowd around her, their large eyes and ears looking at her in anticipation.

"Hello, Miss," one squeaked. "What can we do for Miss?"

She crouched down and smiled. "Sorry for the bother but Malfoy and I missed dinner."

"Miss is no bother!" the elf assured. "What would Miss like?"

She pursed her lips in thought. "Just whatever you had for tonight's dinner, please."

Several elves nodded in understanding and began to scurry around the large hall in haste. She turned to Draco who was still standing near the hidden door, looking around with slightly wide eyes.

The room was almost an exact replica of the Great Hall, with four long House tables across the floor. Dozens of pots and pans hung in the air, a few flying around and following the elves magic with admirable speed. She titled her head at Draco who finally seemed to notice her again and followed her to the table that would have been connected to Ravenclaw's.

Oddly, her heart began to race against her chest. After all, eating dinner with her old arch-nemesis was a rather straining situation to be in.

"How did you find this place, Granger?" he asked, still looking slightly shocked.

She grinned. "The twins. Barely got them to tell me."

Before he could reply, the table in front of them filled with food as if they were eating in the Great Hall. Except this time, she was eating with Draco. Loads of chicken, potatoes, biscuits, fruits, pumpkin juice and other food continued to appear on the table. Hermione wanted to tell them to stop with all the food because she couldn't even properly pay them, but the aroma was weakening her will.

Picking up her fork, she reached towards the fruits first, popping a strawberry into her mouth with a content sigh. It had been over eight hours since she had lunch, she honestly wouldn't care if she were eating with a troll; the food was glorious.

She risked a glance at Draco and watched him eat for a few moments. He had the most impeccable table manners she had ever seen. The knife stayed in his right hand, the fork in his left, cutting one piece of chicken at a time and never letting his elbows rest on the table. He didn't stuff food into his mouth as he ate but chewed silently and never spoke.

He caught her gaze and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

She cleared her throat. "Sorry—nothing. It's just... very new for me to see a guy eat without spluttering flecks of food everywhere."

His nose scrunched. "That's absolutely disgusting. I don't know why you'd ever think I'd eat like an uncivilized pig that is Weasley and Potter."

"Just Ron," she corrected quietly. "Harry has decent table manners."

"Well, there's a surprise," he replied sarcastically. She couldn't hold back her smile and took a sip from her goblet to hide it.

This was extremely surreal. She was eating dinner with Malfoy, and it was oddly… civil. The corner of her lip quirked up again and she hid her stare by surveying the desserts that had just appeared on the table. She grabbed an éclair and gently tore it in half, taking small bites of her well-loved sweet.

After thanking the house-elves and huffing at Draco when he simply nodded at them and walked off, the two slipped out of the hidden door and slowly crept down the corridor.

Impulsively, she reached out to him again as they passed an alcove. "Wait, Malfoy."

He turned at her touch, but to her surprise, he didn't yank his shoulder away. "What now?"

She pulled her hand back and bit her lip. "Well… what does your summer look like?"

His face darkened slightly. "Honestly, I don't know."

Instantly, apprehension filled her chest. With the Dark Lord's return, who knew what was in store for all of them?

"Will you be reachable by owl?" she finally spluttered, meeting his gaze.

Confusion flashed through his eyes before they narrowed. "Yes. Although if you think we're suddenly going to be pen pals—"

"No, no!" she waved her hands, feeling a flush creep up her neck. She faltered at his hostility. "I—uh—c-can I send you some books?"

"More books?" His eyebrow lifted, and he seemed to be deep in thought. "Does that mean I get to force books upon you as well?"

She smiled slightly, feeling grateful that he hadn't rejected her yet. "If you want. I actually enjoyed the book you handed to me. Honestly, it was incredibly interesting and informative. I had no idea that—"

"Stop right there, Granger," he frowned, shaking his head at her rambling.

"Er—right, sorry," she muttered. When did she start to get this flustered in his presence? Clearing her throat, she blinked twice and met his gaze again. "For today though, thank you."

He gave her quizzical look. "Stop being so chummy, you're making me regret –" Suddenly, he stopped, stiffening.

Opening her mouth to question his odd behaviour, she stiffened when a familiar voice drifted around the corner in the distance.

"Students out of bed, is that right, Mrs. Norris?"

Her eyes widened.

Filch.

Before she even had time to react, an arm pulled her into the alcove she had noticed before with lightning speed.

Neither of them dared to breathe as Filch came closer and closer, muttering obscenities and threats to himself. As he walked past their alcove where they were just barely hidden by the jut of the wall, Hermione's heart thudded in her chest. Just three steps more before Filch would turn the corner. Two steps. One step.

Both of them breathed a sigh in relief as Filch's footsteps and grumbling became more and more distant. She didn't want to be receiving detention the last week of school.

As she came back to her senses, she realized with a start that Draco's hand was clamped tightly over her mouth, the other on her waist. The alcove was small and dim, and her back was against his chest, the subtle scent filled her nostrils for the second time that day. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed hard. She swore she could her heart rattling in her ribcage, even though Filch was long gone.

Suddenly, as if she had been shocked, she wrenched out of his arms and jumped into the hall.

"Er — good thinking," she quickly mumbled, righting herself and straightening out her robes. No doubt the fear of getting detention on the last day of school had addled her thinking.

Draco stepped into the light of the hallway, an look of annoyance on his face. "All you do is cause trouble, Granger."

All traces of awkwardness were replaced by indignation. "It's not my fault Filch was lurking about!" She said hotly.

"You're the one who brought us here," he replied, raising a brow.

"Well, you didn't have to come!" She shot back, annoyed.

He gave her a quizzical look. "I wasn't aware I had a choice."

She quickly thought back to how she had pulled him from his seat, and cringed. She had lost this one, and judging from the glint in his eyes, he knew it too.

"Oh, fine!" She huffed out at last. "Goodnight, Malfoy."

She walked around him and headed towards the opposite side of the stairwell that led to the Gryffindor Tower.

"'Night, Granger."

Hermione whirled around on the spot, feeling shocked for the umpteenth time that night, trying to catch his expression, but Draco had already turned, his retreating form growing smaller as he descended the stairs to the dungeons.

Shaking her head, she quickly headed towards the common room before Filch could make his return, but she was unable to wipe off the smile that bloomed on her face.

The following day, she scurried up the stairs to the Headmaster's office. She had thought it was time to give Dumbledore a true report on her mission for the year now that her last meeting with Draco had passed. Her mouth went dry as she thought about that blasted alcove, but she quickly disposed of the thought.

She climbed up the staircase and walked in front of the two large doors that would lead to the Headmaster's office. As she knocked on the right door, it opened on its own like last time, and she hesitantly stepped in.

Professor Dumbledore was at his desk, which was covered with sheets of never ending parchment. She spotted the official ministry stamps on them, and concluded that they were most likely material regarding the Triwizard Tournament. For a moment, she saw him appear quite old and exhausted, but the familiar warm twinkle in his eye soon returned.

"Hello Professor," she greeted. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time…"

"Not at all, Miss Granger," he smiled and waved his hand, the parchments disappeared the next second. "Please sit. Care for a sherbet lemon?"

"Actually, yes," she sat down on the red chair and plucked a sweet from his open hand. "Thank you."

"Now," he opened a candy for himself. "What can I help you with?"

She popped the yellow candy in her mouth and smiled. "I wanted to tell you in detail about my progress with Malfoy."

"Ah—yes, I'm assuming something good happened?"

Multiple moments flashed through her mind, but she held them back and merely nodded. "Well, the first time didn't go so well…"

Hermione began explaining all her encounters with Draco, the good, the bad and the ugly. She was ashamed of herself as she admitted the fact she had pulled her wand on him near the beginning. She informed him on how he helped her catch Rita Skeeter and unknowingly gave her the clue to help Harry in the second task, even having decent conversations with her from time to time. She concluded with the latest report of their small fight at the wooden bridge, and the meeting where they traded books and sat in the library, missing dinner.

Dumbledore's eyes were sparkling as he listened to her talk; his half-moon spectacles were sitting lower on his crooked nose.

"This is excellent news, Miss Granger. I am very proud of you," he said. "The level of maturity and logical thinking that you exhibit is a difficult trait to come by."

"Thank you, Professor," she blushed slightly. "I did mess up many times, though. Dealing with Malfoy isn't very easy."

His face grew dark. "I'm afraid it won't be getting any easier. With Lord Voldemort's return, Mr. Malfoy will feel the pressure from his father, there is no doubt in this. You must be the rock in this storm. He will be relying on you much more than ever before."

She felt her mouth go dry but nodded resolutely. "I will. I won't let him fall."

Feeling the end of their conversation draw near, she stood from her chair and bid the headmaster farewell.

"Good luck, Miss Granger." He simply replied. "And do stay in contact."

When the Hogwarts Express came to a stop at King's Cross Station, Hermione heaved her trunk out of her compartment and followed Ron and Harry to the platform. Releasing a soft sigh, she hugged Harry goodbye knowing that he was probably in for a rough summer again.

After leaving the magical barrier, she spotted her parents waving to her and she ran to them like an overjoyed child.

"Hermione!" her mum exclaimed, hugging her tightly. "Oh, we've missed you!"

"Honey, you're going to crush the poor girl," she heard her dad sigh.

"It's been nearly a year, Steven!" Athena argued, letting her go. "Remember she didn't even come home for Christmas break?"

Hermione released a light laugh as she hugged her father too, and every thought of worry or anxiety seemed to fly out of her.

Her mum practically towed Hermione to their car while her dad

carried the luggage. Athena talked on and on the entire ride home, but Hermione was more than happy to listen to her mum's voice after all that time.

"—And the ball! Steven, remember the crazy tournament her school had—what was the lad's name, again?"

"His name is Viktor, remember?" She said. "He plays the same position Harry does in Quidditch."

"So he plays professionally?" Steven intervened, peaking through the rearview mirror. "Doesn't that make him a little too old for you?"

"He's still a student," she defended. "And there's nothing between us—he's just a friend."

Athena simply raised an eyebrow while her dad didn't give his reply. Inwardly groaning, Hermione turned to look out the window, waiting for her mum to pick a new topic of conversation.

After two days of unpacking her trunk and settling back into her old room, she flooed to Diagon Alley on her own and visited the Eeylops Owl Emporium. She had considered sending Crooks on her book-trading escapade with Draco, but she tossed the thought aside knowing the magical cat wasn't quite built for simply delivering messages. Besides, both Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley had told her to keep in contact, so buying an owl for herself wasn't a completely bad idea. She couldn't keep borrowing Pig or Hedwig forever.

Speaking of Draco, she thought to their last encounter and felt a strange sensation in her chest again. Though there was still a lot of work left to do, she felt as if she had made remarkable process — more than she had though possible at the beginning of the year. Her cataloguing of his behaviourisms allowed her to properly gauge his reactions, and when before she had thought him a depthless statue, now she thought that he was almost fairly expressive — she just needed to know what to look for. In addition, ever since she tried harder to see and approach him as Draco instead of 'that git Malfoy', she was starting to see him as a real human. When he had accepted her chance on the night of Voldemort's return, she had almost went giddy with relief. It would get more intense from here on in, but knowing that she had made somewhat of an impact was enough for now.

Fuelled by her newfound realization, she stepped into the lowly lit Emporium and glanced around the small circular room with dozens of owls hanging from the ceiling. Some were asleep, while others were staring at her with quiet hoots.

"Welcome," a male employee smiled at her. "How can I help you?"

She turned to him. "I'm looking for an owl, preferably a large one that can carry heavier items."

He gestured to a section of owls. "We have the traditional Barn Owls, great for carrying any kind of weight. Or—" he pointed to another section, "—the Screech Owls, also good. They are the main owls for the Daily Prophet, quite intelligent birds, if I can say."

Hermione walked around the shop, following the employee. She glanced into a particularly dark room and stopped. Inside was an owl with the brightest amber eyes she had ever seen, staring at her with mild interest. It hooted softly at her cocked it head.

"What about this one?" she pointed to the owl, unable to make out its exact color in the dim room.

"Aye," the man sighed. "That is the Great Horned Owl. It was sent here from the American Ministry. Our biggest in the store, however, it refuses to be caged up and doesn't like anyone. I'm afraid he will be a permanent resident here."

Hardly listening to the man, she walked closer and greeted the owl. It hooted back and clicked its beak multiple times. With a mighty clap of its wings, it launched itself off the wooden bar and gently perched itself on Hermione's shoulder. The employee's jaw dropped.

"I think this is the one," she affirmed, finally catching a glimpse of the bird's true colors. Its feathers were a light grey, with flecks of blue on its wings. It reminded her of Draco's eyes, but she dismissed the thought the next second.

The man seemed rather eager to get rid of the bird, and sold it to her cheap. She added a few owl treats in the mix and left the store happily. A few people sent her wary glances as she walked outside with a giant owl on her shoulder, but she paid no mind. It was probably the most majestic bird she had seen, next to Hedwig and Fawkes of course.

After returning home and nearly scaring the life out of her parents, she climbed up the steps to her room and conjured a large bar for her new companion to perch on. Crooks came waddling in and immediately took like to the newest member. For the next two hours, she came up with possible names for the owl since the store had never managed to find it, until he finally responded to the name, Erlow.

She grabbed Things Fall Apart from her shelf and wrote a quick note to Draco, tucking it under the cover. She wrapped the book tightly with parchment, and bound it to Erlow's leg.

"Your first task from me," she smiled at the owl. "I need you to send this to Draco Malfoy. And if his father happens to be in the room, please peck him a few times."

Erlow hooted in agreement and launched himself off her window frame, his large wings beating through the night air and eventually disappearing into the sky.

Hermione watched him leave, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.

This was going to be an interesting summer.


	10. Summer Interlude

CHAPTER TEN

**Summer Interlude**

Draco strode into his room at Malfoy Manor and with an audible sigh, sprawled rather inelegantly onto the bed, staring blankly at the black stone ceiling. Everything in his room was either black or grey, and it quite accurately reflected his current mood. When he was younger, his room had been rather nicely furnished, but now, he preferred a simpler room. He would never admit it out loud, but he had been rather … demanding in his younger years, and he tried to leave those times behind by changing the vibrant greens and gaudy silvers to more mature hues of neutral colours.

Nevertheless, he was glad to be back in his own room. Here, he and his thoughts could be alone. Here, he had the time and privacy to think.

His mind drifted back to his last encounter with Granger, and he could feel another headache coming on.

Never had he thought there would be a day where he would willingly sit down and read with the bushy-haired witch.

For Merlin's sake, he had eaten dinner with her.

He rubbed viciously at the bridge of his nose.

It had all started with her — she was the root of the mess, the line that connected all the dots. Worse yet was that something about her had changed.

He couldn't say with confidence that he found her repulsive or unworthy anymore... rather, he had found himself impressed by her wit in more than one occasion. As loathe as he was to admit it… he found himself remembering less and less exactly why he had hated her before.

She was a mudblood, for one. For his whole life, that had been more than enough. That should be more than enough. But now? Now…it almost felt as if it didn't matter…

No, it hadn't mattered one bit when he had pulled her into that alcove, the bushy hair he had so detested gently tickling his chin, her vanilla jasmine scent teasing his nose…

He shot up in his bed, back as stiff as a board.

What on earth?

What in the name of Merlin was he thinking? How could something as important and defining as one's birthright not matter? A sudden realization passed through his mind, one that he had never entertained before.

Had Granger poisoned him?

After all, it was the only plausible explanation for his strange thoughts as of late. Sinking back into the bed, he gritted his teeth.

But then again, maybe not. He wouldn't put it past someone like Pansy, but Granger wasn't crazy enough to actually poison him.

His thoughts drifted back to the night of the Dark Lord's return and Granger's final question.

Who would he fight? It had never even been a possibility to question what side he would fight on.

Until now.

Of course, he still loathed Potter with every fibre of his being. Still respected his father and the Dark Lord's movement. Still didn't care for Muggles or Muggle-borns… but there was one that he couldn't say he hated anymore and somehow, that alone clashed with every pre-existing belief he had and struck away at the stone walls he had built around himself for all of his life. The stone walls that his father — that his ancestors had built.

Granger had unearthed the doubts that he had buried in the depths of his mind and no matter what he told himself, he knew that those textbooks didn't lie.

He grunted and uncrossed his legs, throwing a hand in his hair. Granger had nosed her way into his life and upheaved everything that he had ever known. It was like she had pulled the rug out from underneath him, and he was sitting there, blinking like an idiot. All because of Hermione bloody Granger.

Finally, Draco shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He needed to take a break from his thoughts. Even at home, far away from Granger's prying eyes, she and her Muggle preaching were the only thing on his mind.

Making his way down the padded stairs, he quietly headed towards the drawing room. The Manor looked as it always did — large, foreboding, yet magnificent. As he followed the carpet walkway and turned the corner into the drawing room, he paused as Lucius' voice met his ears.

"—you see that the Dark Lord is the key?" Lucius was saying, a note of intense urgency in his voice. "With his return, he will purify the Wizarding World and when we aid him, will be restored to our former glory! We will be given the respect that we deser— "

"Lucius!" Narcissa said, her voice ringing out. "Was it not only a few days prior when you told me of his words to you when you returned to him? Do you really believe that the Dark Lord will bestow on you honour and distinction when you have been denying your conscious involvement since the end of the First War?"

"My dear, he understands that an act of self-preservation was necessary in order to — "

"No, Lucius! The Dark Lord does not forgive easily and you out of all should know that!"

"He will forgive us!" Lucius said loudly. "He will when he sees how readily the Malfoys are willing to serve him! The Dark Lord is generous and one day, the time will come where — "

"No!" Narcissa's shrill cry rang through the air and Draco felt as if he had swallowed a stone. He had never heard his mother sounding so emotional in his life. "Do not speak as if I had a say in your decision! It is only you who wants to serve him!"

Lucius did not speak for a moment as he waited for Narcissa to compose herself.

"The Dark Lord is generous, Narcissa, and one day he may even extend the honour to Draco — "

Narcissa let out a stifled cry. "How can you do this to your — "

"Stop. You are raving. I have raised Draco well, Narcissa." His father's voice was calm but coloured with exasperation. "When he is older, he will be more than willing to support the Dark Lord in bringing a new era —"

"Draco is only a boy!" Narcissa wailed. "He does not understand the full meaning of serving the Dark Lord —

"What would you have me do then, Narcissa?" Lucius shouted, finally losing control. Draco's breath hitched as he watched with apprehension in his chest as his father exploded. "IF I HAD NOT GONE WHEN I WAS SUMMONED, HE WOULD HAVE HUNTED US DOWN!"

After what seemed like minutes, Narcissa spoke, her voice had the calm steeliness that Draco knew meant the discussion was over.

"That is your fault," she spoke, quietly. "And you must bear the blame on your own shoulders if there ever comes a day you lose your son and wife — then it is your fault. Remember that it is you who risked everything for a notion that you delude yourself into calling glory." And with a sharp rustle of her robes, she turned and walked out of the drawing room.

Draco felt like he had been Petrified as he watched his father stand in front of the fireplace, unmoving. His legs felt numb, his mind unable to fully process what he had just overheard.

He had sought to forget about the seeds of doubt Granger had sowed in his head, strengthen his ideologies and pride in his father and his name, but had instead, walked into a discussion that churned his stomach and made him feel as if some sort of clock was counting down the seconds he had to — to do something…. but what?

Out of the frying pain and into the fire, he remembered Granger saying once. That blasted Muggle saying seemed to describe his situation better than any other.

After what seemed like hours, he watched his father sit down in an armchair with a heavy sigh before making his way out of the shadows.

"Father," he said, making sure to keep his voice indifferent and cool. Years of being Lucius son had taught him to not incur the wrath of Lucius when he was angry. Lucius' head snapped towards him.

"What is it, Draco."

Draco suddenly realized that he didn't know what to say. How could he after what he had just heard.

A sharp tapping interrupted his thoughts and Draco breathed a sigh of relief. Both wizards turned to look for the source of the sound.

A large, grey owl was pecking at the glass and it was only when he saw the rectangular parchment-wrapped object tied around the bird's leg that it all clicked.

Granger.

He quickly rushed to the window, opened it an inch, and let the owl in. To Draco's utter horror, the owl flew in a flurry of grey over to Lucius.

"No!" He hissed, however, Lucius' shouts drowned him out.

"Ouch! — Vile bird — Ouch! - Get away— you —" Draco watched, slightly open-mouthed, as the owl dug its talons into Lucius' long hair, the hard package thwacking Lucius' face quite a few times, before the owl unearthed its claws and flew over to Draco.

Draco would have been highly entertained if he had not just witnessed a full-blown fight between his parents and known that his father was inches away from a full-blown rage. His fingers struggled to quickly untie the string around the owl's leg and the second the object was free, he shooed the bird out of the window.

'Upstairs!' He mouthed at the owl, while pointing upwards, praying that it would take the hint. He clicked the window shut just as Lucius had taken out his wand to no doubt hex the offending bird.

"Damn bird!" Lucius shouted, but he lowered his wand. "Damn it all!" And with a growl, he stormed out of the drawing room in a flurry of robes.

Draco had to blink a couple of times before his lips thinned. There was no doubt who this owl belonged to.

Shaking his head as he quickly made his way back to his bedroom, he ripped open the wrapping to find himself holding a book by an author whose name he didn't recognize.

He rolled his eyes.

Of bloody course. Muggle fiction.

Tearing a piece of parchment from his desk, he quickly jotted down a note before choosing one of his favourites from his personal library and wrapping it.

The owl was still waiting outside of his window, looking extremely impatient, and when Draco cracked open the window, it swooped in and settled itself onto Draco's satin bedsheets.

"Hey!" He barked at the offending bird. "Get off my sheets!" He approached the bed, hands outreached but his eyes widened when the owl seemed to match his menacing scowl with a fierce gaze of its own.

It was Granger's bird, through and through.

"Alright." He rolled his eyes. "You can stay, but only for a while." He may not care much for house-elves, but he certainly would not deprive an owl of some rest before making another long trip.

To his utter shock, the owl sidled up to him and rubbed its head on his robes.

Draco reared back in surprise.

Damn persistent bird. The more he thought about it, the more like Granger it seemed to be. He shook his head, but gave the creature a reluctant pat on the head before settling back into his armchair.

Taking Granger's book in his hands, he eyed it with distaste.

Reading Muggle fiction in the Manor…

The irony. If his father found out…

He clenched his jaw. The bird had distracted him that his predicament had been briefly pushed to the back of his mind, but now, his mother's words came floating eerily back to him.

_…You must bear the blame on your own shoulders if there ever comes a day you lose your son and wife — remember that it is you who risked everything for a whimsical notion that you delude yourself into calling glory…_

Draco gritted his teeth, but shook himself out of his thoughts. He had done enough thinking for today. Yes, he'd leave that for tomorrow.

For now, he thought with a sigh, he would do the homework Granger had assigned him.

* * *

Erlow returned two days later.

It was early morning when Hermione heard sharp tapping on her window. She grumbled, still half-asleep and forced herself out of her warm bed. After sliding the large glass window open, Erlow hopped in and stuck his leg out for her.

She fumbled with the packaging in drowsiness, and finally untied the soft string. She handed Erlow a treat, which he took with an appreciative hoot and perched himself on the wooden stand at the corner of her room.

Her mind was startled awake when she realized the package was from Draco. She quickly pulled back the wrapping parchment and set her eyes on an old looking book that was quite thick, The Buildings of the Wizarding Community: Middle Ages.

A smile took her lips. She briefly wondered if he had a personal room of books to himself, but remembered this was Draco Malfoy she was thinking about—the lucky git probably had a whole library in his house. Opening the cover, a small torn piece of parchment slipped out. Bending over, she picked up the piece, recognizing his refined script.

Muggle fiction? I'm skeptical.

Also, your owl is an insufferable messenger. My father was not pleased.

Hermione stifled a laugh as she read the two lines multiple times. She was beginning to find Draco's blunt speech rather amusing sometimes. Shaking her head with a smile on her face she looked at the letter.

There was no addressee or even an indication of his name at the end, but she considered the idea better. If their owls were intercepted in some way, the catcher would have no idea who the letters were addressed to or where they were from.

Deciding to eat some breakfast first, Hermione set the book aside and headed down the stairs, careful not to wake her parents. After gulping down a glass of orange juice, she cleaned up the dishes by hand, having actually missed the activity while at Hogwarts. Some things just felt much more accomplished when done the muggle way.

The next week passed by quickly. She exchanged books with Draco again at the end of the week—though this time, his owl had arrived first. There were two books attached to the leg of a large eagle owl, which she took with haste. The new guest perched on Erlow's empty bar, as her feathery companion was currently flying to the Burrow. After tossing him a treat, Hermione turned to both packages, gently tearing off the parchment and flipping the cover open. Sure enough, a small slip of paper was placed in the book she lent him, his elegant script causing her to be distracted again.

A man obsessed with strength, determined not to show any weakness or emotion—in the story yes, but it can't be such a tragic flaw in reality. At least he had the decency to hang himself before he succumbed to the authority of invaders.

She reread his short letter again, and hummed in thought. It was concise and to the point. Perhaps what he wanted wasn't a full-blown letter debate, but a simple review. It was rather refreshing, Hermione had to admit. It had been a while since she had a friend to discuss literature with — Harry and Ron certainly were not good candidates. She just never would have imagined that Draco would be the one she'd discuss them with.

Instead of responding to his thoughts, she grabbed the book he had sent her, ripped a sheet of parchment from her desk and wrote a short analysis of her thoughts on his book. She tucked the letter under the cover and wrapped it again. Deciding to let his owl rest for the day, she turned to the second book on her bed, picking it up with curiosity: The Darkest Times. She scrunched her nose; this would definitely be a lovely read.

The following morning, she grabbed her copy of Les Miserables, and added a few words under the cover, before wrapping the book and tying it to the eagle owl's leg along with The Buildings of the Wizarding Community: Middle Ages. She watched the black owl silently soar out of sight, hooting in farewell.

Erlow returned the next day with Ron's letter. The entire Weasley family was on the move. Not much was written in the note except that they would come pick her up next week Sunday at 7pm.

Much to her surprise, she received a letter from Viktor, his owl landing messily on her window frame, clearly exhausted from the long trip. Erlow was reluctant to let the new bird rest next to him, but Hermione gave him a stern look, and a 'please', and he had shuffled aside, clearly looking miffed. After tossing both of them treats, she gently unrolled the parchment and read through his letter. Durmstrang was appointed a new headmaster by a name she didn't recognize, the school itself seemed quieter, but there was clear tension in the air. He was playing Quidditch again, and promised her that he was still studying and practicing his spells. Smiling, she thought of what she could say after his owl had gotten enough rest.

Thinking of Viktor made her stomach fill with warmth. She had thought he was just another Harry and Ron to her, but he made her feel appreciated and liked for the way she was. She bit her lip, remembering the way he truly accepted her for who she was, the entire muggle-born and know-it-all package.

Sudden bitterness rose in her chest as she thought of a certain blonde prat who was quite the opposite of Viktor. She sighed, feeling a headache approach as she thought of the complicated situation she was in. Prior to Voldemort's return, she hadn't thought about it at all, but her stomach turned over as she saw remembered Harry saying that Lucius Malfoy had been one of the Death Eaters at the graveyard. With Voldemort back, how much would the Malfoys be involved? Would her relationship with Draco eventually be much more complicated and dangerous? She shook her head. Dumbledore would have warned her. Biting her lip, she decided to push the subject away for a later time, but mentally set a reminder to make a trip to Dumbledore's office in September.

Determination filled her as she looked back at the book Draco had sent her. She would make things work. She wouldn't fail Dumbledore. No — she wouldn't fail Draco.

At 6:50pm, Hermione had her suitcase packed and set, Crookshanks at her ankles, and her parents, already informed, safely inside. She released Viktor's owl with her reply letter the night before and sent Erlow to Draco with another muggle book of her own, and the one he lent her, both with small notes under the covers. She cringed as she remembered the content in The Darkest Times, stories about witches and wizards being hunted as a sport, along with gruesome, detailed accounts of those who were accused.

Shaking her head, she glanced at her watch, 7:02pm. They had informed her to stand in her backyard instead of the front door, which was strange.

A second later, there was a loud crack and two figures popped out of thin air. She turned at the noise, startled, recognizing the Weasley twins, one of them unfortunately caught in the branches of the large tree.

"See George, I told you to study the picture longer," Fred remarked, pulling his twin by his robes. "I got here perfectly all right without running into any trees."

"Hardly," George replied, throwing himself off with a grunt.

Hermione nearly stepped on Crookshanks. "What are you guys doing here?"

The twins finally turned to her, a smirk on their faces. "We're here to pick you up. Got Ron's letter, did you?"

"Of course," she muttered. "You're both of age now. Why do I have a feeling your mum didn't approve of this?"

"Well dad had an emergency Ministry meeting, so he's out," Fred explained. "So we volunteered to go in his place—"

"Two minutes ago," George finished.

She shook her head, not wanting to argue with the two of them. It was never productive.

Fred grabbed her trunk, while George took her wrist.

"You take him," Fred demanded, looking down at Crookshanks.

George looked offended. "I've got to transport the lady, Fred—you take the cat."

Hermione growled and scooped her familiar in her arms, glaring at both of them. "I'll take him, now let's go."

"Yes, ma'am," they both replied, enthusiastically. At the same time, they grabbed onto one of her arms each before she could even protest and spun.

The world disappeared from her vision as she shut her eyes and focused on keeping her dinner in place. She felt like she was trapped in one of those muggle tunnel slides, until the pressure vanished and she opened her eyes again.

They were standing in a long street, which looked oddly like a muggle neighborhood. The sun was setting in the horizon, casting an orange glow through the entire street.

She followed the twins onto the pavement, clutching Crookshanks a little tighter than necessary. Fred dug in his pockets for something, then pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to her.

"Read it and think the words in your head," he instructed.

She took the slip, immediately recognizing Dumbledore's handwriting.

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

Slightly confused, she glanced up at the twins then scanned her surroundings for the supposed building. A second later, she gasped. A run-down looking door appeared out of nowhere, followed by a stone wall and large broken windows that had used to look intricate and fine. The muggle houses to the side next-door seemed to shift aside to reveal a dark and rather grimy-looking house.

George pulled out his wand and tapped the silver doorknob, resulting in several shifts of locks being undone. The old black door swung open, revealing a dark hallway.

As they walked inside, a few candles flickered on and a rush of pounding footsteps echoed ahead of them. Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley before she saw her.

"FRED! GEORGE!" she screeched, rounding the corner. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU TWO! THE NOTE FROM DUMBLEDORE GONE! BOTH OF YOU NOWHERE IN SIGHT!—hello Hermione, dear—COMPLETELY RECKLESS—"

"Mum, don't shout!" Fred shouted back, trying to hold off the Weasley matriarch.

There was a sudden scream that filled the air, far louder than Mrs. Weasley's voice and sounded very close to a dying animal. Hermione cringed and tried to see where the offending noise was coming from.

"Blood traitors! Half-breeds! How dare you taint the house of my fathers! Filthy scum! Be gone from this noble place!"

"OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!"

"Who is that!?" Hermione yelled over the screaming as Mrs. Weasley headed off with an exasperated look.

"Portrait of Sirius's mum!" one of the twins shouted back. "She's a complete lunatic!"

She barely saw Lupin dash out from one of the room looking incredibly tired, and rushed to wherever the mad woman was screaming.

"Can't you take her down?" she yelled a little louder.

"She's got some sort of permanent sticking charm! Trust me, that was the first thing we tried when we came here."

After a few more minutes, the screaming died down with a flutter of curtains. Fred and George looked at each other, then down back at her.

"We're going to dash—"

"Can't face mum's wrath now—"

"We'll take your trunk to Ginny's room—"

With that, the two of them disapparated from the hall, leaving Hermione standing alone and slightly taken aback. A moment later, Mrs. Weasley appeared again, panting slightly.

"Hermione, good to see you, did you have dinner? The kitchen is straight down the hall in the back."

She nodded. "I ate before arriving. Are Ron and Ginny in?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Upstairs, and do try to be quiet."

Not wanting another round of screaming, Hermione tiptoed up the creaking stairs. She grabbed the old railing for support, regretting the action immediately. Retracting her hand in haste, she stared at the strange gooey substance on her palm, trying not to gasp in a mix of disgust and fear.

What a pleasant home for the next three weeks…

* * *

Draco sat in the drawing room with a deep scowl on his face, as he glanced at his company. Crabbe and Goyle had taken up the long couch facing the fire, and sitting opposite of Draco were Theo, and Pansy, both lounging in armchairs. Blaise was the only one absent from their group, as his mother was not part of the inner circle. Draco noticed that Theo looked more withdrawn than usual, no doubt due to the lack of his friend's presence. The two were usually always together.

"Can you believe that this is actually happening? That the Dark Lord has really returned?" Pansy whispered in hush tones, her eyes illuminated by the glow of the fire.

"It was obviously bound to happen," Draco said, folding his arms and leaning back into his armchair. Years of practice produced a confident reply that seemed to encourage the others, specifically Crabbe and Goyle, who nodded eagerly. "You don't think that someone as powerful as the Dark Lord would simply be defeated by baby Potter?"

Pansy snickered and Draco offered her a wry smirk.

"I overheard them saying that he's currently planning to build an army," Theo said quietly. "Before he announces his return to the public."

"That's hardly a surprise," Draco replied, curtly. "If he's been alive all this time, then surely he must have had a plan for when he returned."

A moment of silence ensued after he spoke.

Contrary to his words, the surreal shock of their reality was only just beginning to wear off, and he knew the others felt it too.

It was only until his father had started disappearing for hours at end that it became clear to him that the Dark Lord had truly returned, and at a most inopportune time in his life at that.

The circumstances around the Dark Lord's return were still unclear, but Lucius had informed him of all that he knew. Apparently, Barty Crouch Jr. who was thought to be dead had, under the guise of that crazed auror Moody, slipped into Hogwarts and sabotaged the Triwizard Tournament. He had turned the trophy in the third task into a Portkey, effectively transporting Diggory and Potter to the Dark Lord's location where Pettigrew, a stout, balding man who gave Draco the chills, had resurrected him. The Dark Lord had then called his servants to him, his father being one of them, and for the second time, had failed to do away with Potter.

Now, the Dark Lord was hidden away somewhere north, and as a result, these meetings had officially commenced.

It was good for him, he thought, to remind himself of his place and his leadership amongst the Slytherins, but as his thoughts drifted towards the unfinished book lying on his bed upstairs, the familiar sense of unease that he had spent the last two weeks blocking out creeped into his mind, and he forced it back out, focusing on the present.

"—worked out well," Pansy was saying. "Not only does the wizarding public think he's not returned, thus earning us more time, people think that Potty and that old crackpot are mad!"

Crabbe let out a guffaw and even Theo managed a smirk.

"What do you think's going to happen to us now?" Theo asked, looking at up Draco.

"Our lives will change," he stated simply, keeping his voice calm, but he could feel the knot in his stomach twist again.

Change was for certain.

He just didn't know if it would be for better or for worse.

* * *

Pleasant turned out to be far from her true feelings regarding her experience at Grimmauld Place. Hermione had spent the two weeks after her arrival decontaminating the house with Ron and Ginny, trying to remove every living species that had exponentially multiplied in the last twenty years.

Dumbledore had given them a surprise visit along with a handful of Aurors, but the meeting had turned sour at the end, when the old wizard had them swear not to speak of Grimmauld Place to Harry in their letters. Not yet. She and Ron tried to argue that their best friend was probably dying for some means of contact or information, but Dumbledore was firm in his word. He had left before Hermione could even remember her dilemma concerning Draco.

To make matters worse, Order meetings would take place in the kitchens, but she was barred from the room without any exceptions. No one under age was allowed to listen in on the meetings. It was rather frustrating, considering how much they had been through already.

To make things worse, the night Harry was attacked by Dementors, Ron and Hermione had protested adamantly to know what was going on with their best friend, but to no avail. Hermione spent hours pacing in circles in her room, while multiple Order meetings took place.

The only thing that kept her sanity in check was her book-exchanging escapade with Draco. Erlow had returned three days after arriving at Grimmauld Place, and they had exchanged two more books since then. Her reviews on his books had gotten longer, even adding in a side comment at the end, showing subtle concern for his wellbeing.

She had stopped while attaching the package to Erlow's leg, when a sudden realization had hit like a rock. She was sending the son of a Death Eater, Muggle fiction from the secret meeting spot of the Order of the Phoenix. An icy sensation gripped at her heart. It's not like she was doing anything traitorous, but the severity of the situation settled in her stomach like a stone. Her perilous thoughts were interrupted by Ron, who had asked who she was owling books to, but she waved him off saying it was a friend she met at the library. It technically wasn't a lie. He seemed to buy it.

On top of everything, to say that her best friend was upset at being left out with his muggle relatives was quite the understatement. After arriving, Harry blew up mid conversation, fuming and utterly distressed at being left out of everything for weeks on end when he was the one Voldemort wanted dead. She let him blow off his steam, understanding his frustration.

Once dinner was served, Harry, along with the rest of them, received their answers. Voldemort had been keeping a low profile and was slowly building his army. The Ministry and Fudge himself were actively discrediting both Dumbledore's and Harry's reputations to prevent chaos among the wizarding population. It was increasingly difficult for them to convince as many people as they could that Voldemort was back.

Afterwards, Hermione was left feeling extremely overwhelmed. A building sensation of dread and apprehension permeated the entire house and after worrying for a good hour about Harry and what was to come for them, her thoughts couldn't help but wander to Draco. How much would his father being a Death Eater affect him? She shuddered at the thought and it wasn't until Hermione received another book from Draco that her mood lifted a bit. Her newest book, Purest of the Pure, was an old wizarding genealogy volume that went as far back to the 10th century. Thousands upon thousands of names along with dates filled every page. It was an interesting read, and Hermione could see why Malfoy would be proud; his family tree went back centuries. However, she also hoped that he was also taking his reading to heart.

The following day, Harry was cleared of all charges after his trial by the Wizarding court. She practically jumped in delight when her letter from Hogwarts arrived a few days before the start of the new term, with a shiny Prefect badge in it. Much to her surprise—and everyone else's for the matter—Ron received a badge as well. Molly was ecstatic, declaring that a congratulatory party would be in order.

After the celebration was over, she headed upstairs and scribbled a rather long review of the previous text Draco had sent her. She suggested returning the newest books to each other at Hogwarts, which started in two days, and even added her new Prefect status at the end. Grabbing her last muggle book, Wuthering Heights, she wrapped the book in parchment and tied the package to Erlow's leg, letting her owl set off into the night sky.

Grimmauld Place bustled with life early in the morning as half its younger residents were packing, running around the house and slamming in their last minute supplies. Hermione was standing outside with a screaming Mrs. Weasley—honestly, when was she not yelling anyway—when Faris swooped around her and landed on her lugged with a quiet clank. He stuck his leg out for her, which she tended to with mild surprise. She had not expected Draco to reply since they were returning each other's books at Hogwarts. Unraveling the parchment, she read his short letter.

Agreed.

And so did I.

It was always short and to the point, but Hermione understood immediately. Draco was also a prefect. Her chest swelled in emotion and a smile broke out on her face. She was not surprised at all with the fact. Draco may have been—or technically still was to some degree—a prat, but he was still one of the top students in their year. Folding the parchment, she tucked it in her robes and waited for everyone else to file out. Mr. Weasley wasn't able to get any ministry-approved cars so the trip had to be made on foot.

During the twenty-minute trip to the station, Hermione sent Erlow straight ahead to Hogwarts, unable to bring him into the train without a cage, and she knew he was far too proud to confine himself into one.

The old Express Train came into view, and she smiled, watching the smoke pour from the top and horns being tested before departure. It was the scene of familiar chaos that she had come to look forward to every September, but she felt oddly jittery.

Clutching her bag, she waved it away and exhaled.

Another year was here.


End file.
